Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1)

by Pasquariello, Jonathan

  * * *

  Thandril dropped Kaillum with a thud. They had reached the top of the hill and now stood behind the command tent.

  “We made it in time. The undead have yet to reach the pavilion,” Kaillum let out a sigh of relief.

  Thandril cocked his head. “Wait…” A moment later, sounds erupted from inside the tent. “We seemed to have arrived at the same time.” Thandril didn’t hesitate to rip through the fabric, lunging into the King’s refuge. Kaillum was close behind.

  The room spun with activity.

  Melidarius’ guards had pulled the King toward the backside of the tent and formed a tight perimeter around him. The chieftains and their own men fought to do the same. Ceth and Ryon commanded a small band of soldiers trying to retake the entrance. Fayeth was firing arrows over the head of her younger brother, Dageros, who’s copies pushed off the encroaching undead.

  Thandril felt a tap on his shoulder. “Come on,” Kaillum said, moving in the direction of his father.

  “There is something not right,” Thandril said, “There are too few of the undead pushing in through the front.”

  “Arclite, Shaymesh, and the others may be making progress with the undead army,” Kaillum said, “We could be close to turning this thing our way.”

  As those words left the Prince’s mouth, the tent’s support beam snapped and splintered out into the room. The canopy started to sag inward. Swords stabbed through the fabric, and an explosion of sunlight rushed into the room as multiple openings poured in undead soldiers. Any sort of defensive formation that had been set up was shattered.

  The tent tangled up the warriors and separated masters from their guards. Thandril stayed close to the prince, who still fought to be at his father’s side.

  “Father!” Kaillum screamed out into the mess of bodies.

  An axe swung down at Kaillum’s head and stopped short with a clang, as it made contact with Thandril’s arm plate. His other fist swung from beneath and landed across the undead’s jaw, lifting him off the ground.

  Thandril had an idea. He dropped to his knees and closed his eyes.

  With a thunderous boom, air flooded into the tent, filling it like a balloon. The fabric launched into the air, revealing all of its occupants sprawled out below. The surprise stopped everyone for a moment, but not any longer. The handicap was gone, and now the Merkadians and tribesmen were on even terms with the undead.

  Thandril and Kaillum reached Melidarius. The father and son embraced.

  “I was worried I wouldn’t reach you in time,” said Kaillum.

  With a ripple of earth, Balar Appeared in the center of the action, leaning on his staff—his chest heaving from the amount of exertion during the fight with Taverous and the Tearanei.

  “Enough. I grow tired.” Balar paused. “Your meager semblance of courage and strength has turned to a gnawing bore.” He lifted his staff and, with a nod, the army of undead sprawled out around the burnt-out cityscape crumbled to ash.

  Calm settled over the countryside.

  It was the first moment in weeks, where the sounds of fighting didn’t linger in the air. The soldiers of Taluria, Merkadia, Chargon, Kilgar, and Targa, along with the Forestials of Thandril, mingled together, making their way to the focal point—to Balar.

  The lull was mesmerizing. White noise screamed across the rain-soaked battlefield—the sound of boots crunching over fallen debris, sheaths bouncing against platemail, horses neighing at their riders, and the eerie void of thousands of breathless soldiers.

  Balar made no motion—made no sound.

  The leaders of each side moved to stand together. Thandril and Arteus stood next to the chieftains and the royal family of Merkadia. General Vyker waited vigilantly alongside his King. Shaymesh, along with Ceth and Arclite, came forward out of the assembling crowd to join them. Mathis came running into the circle from the other side, stopping short of Balar.

  The dark magician turned his gaze to the Tearanei priest. “He lives?”

  “No, he is gon—” Mathis shook and fell to his knees, grabbing at his head.

  “Don’t lie,” Balar hissed, his eyes sparking red. He swatted his hand and Mathis fell backward, released from the assault.

  Balar scanned the assembled crowd. Everyone was there; the pawns in his game of amusement.

  It was time to move onto the next level—with new pieces. It was time to be rid of these pathetic excuses for warriors. Balar smiled and then bowed his head to the ground.

  Chapter 46: Finished

  Taverous’ slumber was shattered by the overwhelming power that his brother drew to himself. Lasal grabbed his master and steadied his posture.

  “You need to rest. They will have to suffice without you. You are in no condition—”

  “Quiet.” Taverous snapped, once again running his hands over his scarred face. “They stand no chance.” He fought to his feet, swaying under his weight. “I need your strength.” He looked at Lasal. “You need to take me to him. Take me in close.”

  Lasal nodded and grabbed the ancient’s hand. They blinked from sight, leaving the desolate hillside to itself.

  Taverous appeared face to face with his brother and, without hesitation, wrapped him in a bear hug. A shockwave rippled out from the two men, pushing everyone back, then a second, and a third. Balar was trying to wrestle free from his brother’s grasp, but Taverous pulled from strength previously untouched. Emotion and pure realization of sacrifice brought out powers that neither of the brothers had tasted before.

  The scars and wounds that riddled Taverous’ body mended and his muscles swelled at their newfound vigor. Balar had no chance of escape.

  With a final thought, Taverous split the sky, and a pillar of golden light shot down upon them. The power scared everyone, except for the Tearanei. This was the closest thing they would ever see to what the brothers had accessed when the three created their people.

  This was a glimpse of their genesis.

  The pillar twisted and contorted for what seemed like an eternity, peeling away layers of the ground, burying the ancient magicians. With a final exertion, and clap of energy, the beam of light vanished, leaving a twisting crater of brilliant, malleable earth—like the liquid gold of a blacksmith’s foundry.

  A lone voice among the masses of soldiers dared to speak. “It’s finished.”

  The barely audible statement spread through the men. Cheers rang through the air. All were overcome with joy—except the Tearanei. They closed in on the tarnished ground. They kneeled and placed their foreheads to the dirt. They chanted a melodic chorus that quieted the soldiers. They felt the meaning in the Tearaneis’ words and the mourning in their hearts.

  Taverous had destroyed his brother, the same way Rykin had done over a hundred years ago, not with the same spell, but through the sacrifice of himself. The soldiers could not comprehend what it meant for all of the ancients to be gone—the enforcers of law, creators of life, and silent watchers of all.

  At one time, Balar was the most valiant.

  At one time, the three were family, in the real meaning, not just by blood.

  A whisper of words slithered from beneath the ground.

  The Tearanei reared back. The words grew louder and louder, rising from the depths.

  A moment of silence fell on them, followed by a rumbling voice, “You will all pay dearly for that.” The words spewed forth from the still churning pit. The form of a man started to rise out of the ground. The Tearanei waved everyone back.

  Lava-like residue slopped away from the body. The body of Balar, still holding onto his staff. He roared out over the men. In an angry outburst, he snapped the weakened weapon and threw the smoldering pieces to the ground. His undead flesh fell away from his body. With each step he took, his body failed him more.

  “With my end, so will come yours,” Balar hissed through his quivering jaw. His body took a final step and crumbled to the ground.

  A black shadow rushed from the undead shell, spreading out
across the ground.

  “Get everyone away from here!” Arclite shouted, signaling his Tearanei comrades into place.

  Arclite, Mathis, and Lasal formed a net around the growing cloud. The shadow seemed to recoil at the touch of the magic but repeatedly whipped out, trying to escape through holes in the defense.

  * * *

  “Father! Come on!” Kaillum yanked at Melidarius’ arm. “We need to get out of here!”

  The army was in complete chaos. The troops ran in all directions, trying to escape Balar’s parting attack. Some made for the hills while others tried to take cover back inside the Talurian Keep.

  “Yes…yes,” Melidarius said, “We should go.” He watched as his army turned to a mob, losing all discipline.

  Kaillum motioned for Shaymesh to come to him.

  The aged druid approached the Prince. “I need you to get my father away from here.” Kaillum stabbed his finger into Shaymesh’s chest. “I am counting on you.”

  The grayed warrior bowed and changed into a colossal bear, nudging the King to mount him.

  “No,” Melidarius said. He reached out and landed a blow to Kaillum’s head, knocking him out.

  Dageros and Fayeth jumped at the sudden hit. “Father!” They yelled in unison.

  “Quiet,” He barked, “Dageros, put your brother onto Shaymesh, and, Fayeth, grab Dag’s hand. You need to teleport him away from here. Shaymesh will take care of Kaillum.”

  “What are you doing, father?” Fayeth screamed, slamming her small fists on his chest.

  “We have no time,” He embraced her and she trembled in his arms, tears running down her face.

  Dageros approached his father and did the same. “We love you so much.”

  Melidarius smiled and then eyed Shaymesh to get moving. He watched as the druid gained ground quickly, getting his son further and further from his location with each moment.

  “Now you,” He said, smiling at his daughter and younger son. He reached down and untied his sheath. “Make sure your brother gets this when he awakens and tell him I love him. He will no doubt be furious out of his mind.” He laughed. “Same as his mother. Furious—when all you want to do is cry.” He embraced each of them one last time. “Go.”

  Fayeth took a final look at her father, her King, and closed her eyes.

  “It’s been an honor, my friend.” General Vyker came around Melidarius’ side.

  “Aye, it has been indeed.”

  They sat down and watched quietly as the Tearanei fought for time. Maybe the soldiers farthest from the center would be able to escape.

  * * *

  Thandril and Arteus took off at a run the second Balar appeared from the crater. Thandril could turn into a bird and fly from the area, but he was not ready to leave Captain Arteus or his Master—too many were going to die as it was.

  They were headed in the direction of the Keep. General Saris was still there, unconscious. The first wave of soldiers reached the stronghold, hiding inside its walls, hoping that whatever was coming would not breach the stone barrier.

  Thandril saw some of the Merkadians headed in the same direction. He thought about how such extraordinary circumstances had erased any sort of conflict between the two forces.

  Everyone was on one side now, fighting for survival.

  “Look. Over there!” Arteus pointed to the hillside. “The tribesmen make for the forest. It is what they know, but do they know something we don’t? How do you think we will fare inside these walls?”

  “We will make do,” Thandril grunted.

  “Ha! Spoken as you would!” Arteus laughed.

  “I will do everything within my power to save Saris.” Thandril said, coolly, “So I recommend being where he is if you want to stand any chance.” He looked around, “Everyone who goes for the Keep is better off.”

  Arteus nodded. “Point taken.”

  * * *

  “I can’t hold it much longer!” Lasal shouted over the roar of energy. He was the weakest among them. He had strong suits, but offensive and defensive magic were not them.

  “You’ve got to hold it a few minutes longer!” Arclite yelled back.

  The three trembled from the power that assaulted their net. Each had been brought to their knees. Sparks of light streaked the sky as the shadow lashed out, tearing at its prison.

  “Hold it together Lasal,” Mathis said, watching sweat beads form on his friend’s forehead.

  “I…I…can’t! Ah!” Lasal fell backward, losing grip of his piece of the barrier. A loud burst echoed through the air.

  The shadow ripped through the barricade. It collected into a dense circle and, in a single sweep, shot out like a shockwave. The growing perimeter shredded anything it touched. The first people it came into contact with were the Tearanei, but they used their magic, encasing each of them in their own shield.

  Arclite watched the wave dissolve soldier after soldier. He saw Melidarius sitting a way off with Vyker at his side—the King that had brought the majority of the island together with a common goal; a great King among men. He concentrated his energy and threw out a beam of light. The spark raced across the field, straining to reach the King before the shadow wave.

  Time seemed to slow as they both narrowed in on Melidarius. The King and Vyker had taken notice of what was happening and were both at their feet. Eyes darted in each direction, trying to determine which was closer.

  Arclite’s shield hit first, moments before the wave. As the shield grew around the men, tentacles of the shadow flicked around the corners. The first one wrapped around Vyker’s throat, instantly severing his head, while a second and third, grazed Melidarius’ arm and leg, disintegrating his limbs. The shield finished materializing around them, leaving Vyker’s corpse slumped over Melidarius’ bleeding, mutilated body.

  The King roared in pain.

  Arclite yelled out.

  Instead of saving him, he had only prolonged the man’s death. Once the wave passed over them, Arclite wiped his shield away and ran toward the men. Mathis hurried to his side while Lasal lay unconscious from the exertion of energy. The priest went to work immediately on the King’s wounds.

  Melidarius howled as the wisps of magic tried to mend his body.

  Arclite surveyed the area, watching the ever expanding ring of death clear through the masses of men, taking everything within its path.

  “Damn it! Not another one!” Mathis shouted, flexing his hands over the King.

  Arclite put his hand on Mathis’ shoulder.

  The priest looked up.

  Arclite shook his head, lowering his eyes to the ground. “Just make him comfortable.”

  Mathis clenched his jaw and nodded his understanding. The magic switched away from Melidarius’ wounds, forming a blanket of energy that enwrapped him. A visible release of pain drained from the King’s face. His chest started to rise and fall more steadily and his remaining limbs stopped twitching.

  “Go check on Lasal.”

  Mathis went without response.

  Arclite saw that the ring was closing in on the Keep. “Death is far from over,” he whispered under his breath.

  * * *

  “Everyone, make for the cellars,” Thandril shouted out over the cries of fear.

  The masses quieted and followed the druid’s command. They had seen his power and knew he was their final defense. He stood atop the high stone walls, along with Arteus and his summoned Forestials.

  “You should probably go as well.”

  “No, I will stay.” Arteus crossed his arms over his chest. “Someone needs to watch out for you.”

  The Forestials spread out along the walkway.

  The shadow wall came fast, but Thandril remained calm and steady.

  When he felt the time was right, he started a complicated pattern of movements, which was mimicked by each of his Forestials. They moved fluidly from pose to pose and, with each completed sequence, a glowing, green light gradually formed in front of them. After some time, with a q
uick forward jerk of their palms, Thandril, and the Forestials, shot the light out toward the wall.

  The explosion of color was blinding.

  Repeatedly they launched the green energy at the shadow, and with each hole that was formed, a tendril would whip out in front of it, attempting to repair itself. Thandril’s mouth opened with a growl, sweat dripped down his forehead, and his arms shook under the strain.

  Arteus watched in silence. He couldn’t help. His life and that of the soldiers inside the Keep rested in Thandril’s hands.

  The wall started to fluctuate.

  It was slowing, but it had come dangerously close. Tentacles flicked at the stone walls, thrashing some of the Forestials from their positions. Arteus moved closer behind Thandril. The shadow was buckling inward around them.

  One by one, the Forestials were destroyed, leaving Thandril, a lone spearhead to a hungry darkness. The wind rushed around the two men. Arteus fought to keep afoot. Thandril roared into the blackness, gaining strength, and pushed his light further into the shadow.

  “Enough!” Thandril’s word echoed over the hillside.

  With an exhilarating show of radiance and sound, the shadow conceded to the nature magic and exploded backward. A link in the barrier shattered and the circle fell away.

  Thandril collapsed into Arteus’ arms.

  The ring started to crumble. It was out of balance and weakened quickly. Arteus looked out over the battlefield and watched as it closed in on the tribesmen in the forest. The ring was furiously trying for them before it deteriorated altogether.

  “Come on…” Arteus gripped the stone wall.

  It was too late for them.

  Arteus looked away as the ring ripped into its final victims. Cries of pain rang through the air. It finally died out as the last of the warriors were swallowed up.

  The doors inside the Keep opened, and the surviving group of men emerged, all in shock to be alive. There was no cheer of victory—there had been too much death. They were a mixed group of opposing armies, who had suffered a devastating blow. The remaining few, who lived through the nightmare together.