“So the Tuonellians have returned to Irlendria.” The words were not a question, but a statement of fact.
“It can mean nothing else, Legatus.” There were no reports of Tuonellian Hulks having the ability to transform into other creatures, but unlike most of the younger bulls under his command, Aquila had faced the savage creatures in battle. He could, at least, identify the creature’s true form.
“I don’t think they ever left.” Aquila and the Prince both jumped hearing Decanus Cornisus voice come from behind them. Seeing their hard looks, Cornisus snapped to attention, fist hammering chest. “Troops bandaged and ready to move out, Sire.”
Waving away Cornisus’ formal response, Tiberius’ eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Explain yourself Cornisus.”
Seeing Cornisus’ nervous glance, Aquila nodded for the smaller bull to continue. “Sire, I had always wondered why the Alliance of Aurenko fell apart before we completely destroyed the Tuonellians.”
Aquila saw Tiberius’ sour look as he spat angrily. “Because my father tried to wrestle control over the Alliance after the Klavikians were destroyed.”
Seeing Cornisus bit back his words, Aquila rested a calloused hand on the Decanus’ shoulder. “Go on son, tell us your thoughts.”
Struggling with the words, Cornisus tried once again. “Everyone talks about the Emperor’s madness, but it never made sense to me.” Looking back and forth between Aquila and Tiberius, Cornisus spoke passionately. “After everything that happened to our people, why did the Emperor not wait until after the Tuonellians were destroyed to drive a wedge between the races? I can’t stop thinking that maybe the Klavikians were not the only ones betrayed.”
Aquila felt the hackles of his mane stand on end as Tiberius gave the Cornisus a quick nod. “Form up the bulls, we’re moving out.”
Giving a quick salute, Cornisus took off at a quick trot as Tiberius met Aquila’s eyes incredulously. “That would explain everything! The Alliance, my Mother’s death the insane laws coming from the Palace! If this has been a Tuonellian Plot all along …”
Aquila cut Tiberius off in midsentence as the enormity hit him. “It could mean only one thing …” Aquila’s mind rocked at the implications as Tiberius finished the sentence for him.
“There’s another Tuonellian invasion coming.”
“We must get you out of the city, my Prince.”
Savagely, Tiberius slammed his fist into his palm. “We’ll get the Thirteenth and slaughter this imposter.”
Grabbing Tiberius by the shoulders, Aquila bellowed. “You will do no such thing!”
Seeing the rage in Tiberius’ stare, Aquila continued in a rush of words. “Where will the invasion come from? What must be held at all costs?”
Tiberius rocked back on his hooves as Aquila’s words penetrated his anger. “By Akras holy sickle, it was never about the rebellion in Tulskana, but taking control of the Citadel!”
Aquila’s fist thumped against his chest as he saluted stepping back. “Now you are thinking like an Emperor!”
Seeing Tiberius’ confused look, Aquila explained. “If an imposter has replaced the Emperor that means …”
Tiberius slowly finished the older bull’s sentence in a shocked whisper. “I’m now the Emperor.”
***
Location Irlendria / Tiberius Decius Lupus:
It took longer than Tiberius would have liked to make it out of the capital, but they could only move so fast with their injured. Keeping to the shadows of the outer defensive walls, they made their way towards the main gate and the safety of the Thirteenth Legion waiting outside.
Fires burned out of control throughout the city, while dead Praetorian Guards and citizens littered the streets everywhere. In the distance, the city growled as rioters and guards fought in the streets. Passing the dead, broken bodies of the females and young strewn about the city’s streets, Tiberius felt the rage growing inside of him. He couldn’t begin to understand what had happened to the Praetorians to make them slaughter their own people.
It was madness beyond comprehension! The Imperium was built upon the beliefs of civilization and the precepts of law. Wholesale slaughter such as this went against every moral fiber of his people. It was as if the entire world had been turned upside down.
Moving through the dark streets of the city, Tiberius mind churned over his conversation again and again with Aquila. He knew the old bull was right. It was the only thing that made sense. The imposter that had taken over his father had successfully destroyed the Alliance for a reason. Now he was trying to destroy the Imperium’s war machine. No matter what, Tiberius couldn’t let that happen.
The Tuonellians must have realized that even with the destruction of the Klavikians, the races of Irlendria could still destroy them. The knowledge that Ilmarinen Ironwolf had shared with the Alliance ensured the races still had a fighting chance. Aquila was correct in his belief that the Citadel must be protected at all costs, but that was only the first step. The Imperium could not defeat the Tuonellian’s alone. If there was going to be any chance of stopping this evil, the races of Irlendria had to fight together as one.
Tiberius thoughts were yanked back to the present as another Praetorian patrol came into view. Scrambling into the dark shadows, he and his bulls hid until the guard patrol passed out of sight once more, while, in the night’s sky, Romulus’ red evil light gave the dark streets a sinister glow.
The patrols were becoming more numerous the closer they came to the city’s gates. Coming around the last bend, Tiberius and his bulls suddenly ducked for cover. Standing guard in the plaza before the gates stood two cohorts of Praetorian Guards blocking their escape.
Looking back at the seven legionnaires left from the nineteen that had originally entered the city with him earlier that morning. Tiberius saw the smoldering rage burning in their eyes at the senseless carnage they’d witnessed throughout the capital. Fighting back his urge to accost the Praetorians responsible for his people’s senseless deaths, Tiberius led his bulls further back into the alleyway. Finding a darkened corner they silently debated what to do next until Decanus Cornisus held up a heavy coil of rope. Moments later, they were scaling the defensive wall surrounding the capital making their escape before Remus could join his smaller brother in the night’s sky and give their position away.
The city hadn’t been attacked in over two decades and few guards, if any, looked down towards the base of the wall they guarded. Moving quickly, Tiberius and his legionnaires sprinted from shadow to shadow making their way towards the massive gates of Gravida. Tiberius hated feeling so vulnerable. The hollow between his shoulder blades itched as he waited for a bolt from a crossbow that never came.
As they reached the entrance to the city, there were no signs of the Thirteenth’s camp anywhere to be found. Moving farther out onto the rolling grasslands before the city, they spread out in search for any signs of the Legion. About a half-mile out Tiberius found what he was looking for, the scuffed earth of a hurriedly packed camp and tracks of several thousand bulls headed north at a quick trot. Hanging his head in frustration, Tiberius forced himself to finally accept the truth he had been fighting so hard to disbelieve. The Legion was gone.
With a harsh whisper, Tiberius called for his legionnaires to him. As the males gathered around, Aquila’s experienced eyes took in the trampled earth thoughtfully before addressing Tiberius. “Commander Scipio wouldn’t have left if there’d been any other possible choice for him to make.”
“I realize that, but it doesn’t change the situation.” Looking towards the North Tiberius spoke sourly. “You know as well as I do that the Thirteenth is being led to their deaths just like the First and Second Legions.”
Aquila’s face hardened at Tiberius’ concern. “It doesn’t matter. The Thirteenth is on their own now.”
“The Thirteenth doesn’t matter?” Sputtering in outrage Decanus Marcellus lunged for the old Centurion as his fellow legionnaires grabbed him by the shoulders pulling hi
m back. “Has guarding the Prince rotted your feeble mind old bull?”
“The Tuonellians have returned you stupid cow!” Shoving legionnaires out of his way in outrage, Aquila lunged for Marcellus’ heavily bandaged face only to be held back by more hands. “Would you jeopardize the entire Imperium for just one Legion?” For a stunned heartbeat, everyone froze at the old Centurion’s words as Tiberius stepped into the middle of the altercation.
“Enough!” Tiberius bellowed under his breath. “We are not going to leave the Thirteenth to their fate.” Seeing Aquila suck in air to argue, Tiberius overrode the older male. “Nor are we going to let the Citadel fall into the hands of the traitors.”
Seeing that he now had everyone’s attention, Tiberius continued in a low whisper. “Aquila, Decanus Marcellus and the rest of the second contubernium will head back to Tulskana and begin reactivating the Legions. Your primary objective will be to reinforce the Citadel while the rest of us head after the Thirteenth.”
“You would place the entire Imperium at risk for just one Legion?” Tiberius heard the betrayal in Aquila’s voice as he tried to comprehend the young Emperor’s reasoning.
“Did you raise me to be a sentimental fool such as that, Centurion Gaius Vitruvius Aquila?” Seeing the seething anger in the old Centurion’s eyes, Tiberius' voice tore into his longtime mentor. “If all of Irlendria falls, how long will the Imperium be able to stand against the Tuonellian hordes alone?”
“The Citadel has never fallen!”
“Then tell me something.” Tiberius shot back fiercely. “How long will the Citadel stand if there is no Imperium left to reinforce it or even to feed it?”
Seeing the sudden doubt in Aquila’s eyes, Tiberius hammered the point home. “Don’t you get it? We need the Alliance if there’s going to be any hope for the future of our people.”
“Who is the only person that can make peace with the races of Irlendria in the name of the Imperium?” Grabbing the old bull by the shoulders, Tiberius shook the Centurion as he spoke. “Tell me who?”
His voice filled with dread, Aquila reluctantly answered the Prince’s question. “Only the Emperor of the Imperium.”
Chapter Sixteen
Location Irlendria / Nessa Manitou:
This time when Nessa awoke, she felt whole. The terrible despair that had tortured her soul had finally left her. Not completely, she could still feel the grief from the loss of her brother, but it was bearable for the first time.
Nessa’s stomach growled painfully. Rising to her knees she could smell the food that had been left by the entrance. Crawling to the clay jars, she began ravenously shoveling food into her mouth. At first, her thoughts were solely on quenching the terrible hunger that burned in her belly, but slowly as her stomach began to fill, a plan began forming in her head. Emptying the last jar, Nessa closed her eyes as she remembered Tolnik’s last thoughts before he died.
Nessa knew what she had to do. Springing to her hooves, she quickly began preparing for battle. Going to the armor stand, she began strapping her gear into place preparing for battle. First came the barding for her hind quarters, which fitted over her flanks in interlocking panels. The incredibly tough leather was taken from the chukka that grazed across the plains in massive herds. Each piece of hide was double layered and boiled into hardened shapes that were further reinforced with bone.
For her torso, Nessa strapped the chukka bone breastplate that her Father had made for her coming of age ceremony six years ago. The breastplate attached directly to the leather equipment harness that crisscrossed her ample chest. The white pipping bones were made from the cylindrical foot segments of the six-legged Chukka. After much preparation, the bones were sewn together at a slight angle in two columns with colorful beads and strands of braided intestine to create the chest piece.
At the top of her equipment harness, Nessa attached boiled leather shoulder pads into place. Lastly, she wrapped thick leather bracers over her wrists. Lacing them tightly in place, Nessa reached for the clay jars that held her spirit paint as she hum-chanted wordlessly to the Sky-Father.
The first color Nessa chose was the white kaolin paste. Using both hands, she spread the thick substance on her face and down her neck. White was for sorrow, symbolizing the spirit world and the realm of the Sky-Father. What she did now was for her brother Tolnik.
Dipping her hand in the yellow paint, Nessa pressed her palm against her left cheek. This was her oath. Death to the enemies of her people and the creatures that had murdered her brother. Her promise to the Sky-Father that she would fight to the death, that she would see Tolnik avenged.
The last clay jar held a red paint made from the bloodroots that grew like weeds across the plains. Using two fingers, Nessa drew the sign of a mace across her opposite cheek. Red was the symbol of war and the color of strength. It was a warning to all that stood against her. It was her promise to the Sky-Father. Wiping the excess paint from her hands, Nessa reached for her weapons.
First grabbing the long bow and heavy quiver on the weapon stand, Nessa strapped the gear into place on her back harness. Next to them went the two long daggers she used for close in fighting. Lastly, she picked up the extra-long tinnearlian-wood mace that she used as her primary weapon.
Hefting the heavy wood in both hands, she traced the inlaid Klavikian runes that ran down its length with her black eyes. The two-handed mace was named Zula. It had been crafted by her great-great-great-grandfather, Cree Manitou, nearly a millennium ago. Cree had made the weapon during the War against the Hordes of Loviatar with the help of the Paladin Ilmarinen Ironwolf. It was Ilmarinen that had taught her people the secret of harnessing the forces of nature. With Luonnotar’s blessing, on that day the first of the chosen were born.
Focusing her power, Nessa sent energy coursing through the runes. At once the mace began to burn with blue fire. Closing her eyes, she prayed silently. “Great Sky-Father, I pray that you give me the strength to fight the evil within our midst.” As the last words left her lips, Nessa felt a calming peace come over her. There was only one more thing she needed to do. Trotting out of her tent, Nessa went immediately to the old Shaman’s wigwam. Calling out, she pushed aside the hides covering the entrance.
“We must speak Uzila.”
Not hearing a response, Nessa stepped all the way inside looking around. Except for the white bones of various creatures hanging from the walls and numerous clay jars of ingredients, the wigwam was empty. Walking thoughtfully across the skins strewn across the hard packed ground, she considered where the Shaman might be. Near the fire pit in the center of the wigwam, Nessa paused as she saw the bundles of fresh cut Tuppalnins.
Uzila must be gathering them from the field of Torne nearby! Bursting from the Shaman’s wigwam in a rush, Nessa galloped heading for the south side of the Thunder Tribe’s encampment. The Centaurs she passed stopped with looks of consternation as they saw the colors of her painted face and her gear. By the time she made it onto the open plains, the entire Tribe was abuzz with rumors.
Ignoring everything, Nessa headed for the small copse of trees growing near the Otso River’s banks where the field of Torne lay.
Tuppalnins could only be harvested for a short time during the year. Most of the blooms here had already been picked over, but on the far side of the clearing, there was a patch that was still partly left. As if someone had stopped in the middle of gathering the precious blooms.
Inspecting the damp earth, Nessa recognized Uzila’s tracks following the curve of the river a short distance out. They were fresh and very shallow. Uzila must have been trying to move silently.
Keeping low, Nessa followed after the old Shaman’s trail at a quick trot, her hooves moving silently in the deep grass.
The water moved slower here due to the width of the river, but farther out into the plains the river turned into rough rapids and was the only water for miles around. Nessa’s father had told her the Otso River began somewhere deep in the Shadow Fang mountains on the ot
her side of the Great Forest. It was there that it started its long journey. Along the way, it passed through most of Irlendria on its twisting trek to the far ocean. Several miles later, Nessa was studying the ground deciding how far she should follow this trail when a bright flash of light caught her attention.
KKKAAABBBOOOOOOMMM
The shock wave of the blast shook the air around her as light spots danced in front of her eyes. Blinking furiously, Nessa’s version came back just in time to see Uzila flying through the air over the rise of the next hill. As the old Shaman landed hard in the tall grass, Nessa saw her brother top the rise chasing after her. Even from this distance, she could see his face wasn’t right. His mouth gaped open half again the size of his face and his arms stretched out from his body in long grotesque mutant like claws.
Uzila struggled to roll back to her hooves, but not before Tolnik was on top of her. In a flash, his sharp claws pierced her body as he effortlessly lifted her weakly struggling mass in the air. Throwing his head back, Nessa heard Tolnik’s triumphant cry as she shouldered her mace and unlimbered her bow in one smooth motion as she charged.
THUNK … THUNK …THUNK
Tolnik’s misshapen head jerked back in shock as Nessa’s arrows began slamming center mass in his chest in a steady stream. With a shriek, Tolnik threw Uzila to the ground hard as his arms drew back protectively covering his face.
Arrows stuck out from Tolnik’s muscular arms at odd angles as blood chilling hisses came from his grotesque lips. As the distance closed, Nessa jinxed to the side as the creature that had stolen her brother’s body lashed out in sudden fury.
Razor sharp claws flew past her in the blink of an eye as they passed through the spot where she’d been just a moment earlier. Continuing to close, Nessa ignored the misshapen arms stretching around behind her as she whipped the bow onto her back harness. Whipping out her mace, she closed to melee range calling forth her energy. As blue fire flared along the length of the shaft, Nessa suddenly felt herself flying through the air.
Destiny Page 12