The Fall of Erlon

by Robert H Fleming

  “General.” Andrei bowed and stepped forward as Duroc reached him and dismounted.

  “Master Scythe.” Duroc handed the reins of his horse to a nearby servant. “Do we have the girl’s trail?”

  “We do, sir. There’s someone else with her; we believe it’s someone from the farm,” Andrei said.

  “Where are they heading?”

  “North, along the edge of the hill country, sir.”

  “Good.” Duroc stood straight and still. “The army will keep our planned course. We go along the Broadwater north. You go after the girl in parallel to us.”

  Andrei did his best to match the posture and meet the general’s eye. “Where’s the Erlonian army?”

  “Hiding in the eastern hills, but they can’t go far. The rest of the Coalition moves slowly south from Vendome.”

  “You’ll encircle them,” Andrei said.

  “Yes. But you need not worry about that. Find the girl before she can reach the other Erlonians.”

  Andrei nodded.

  “Go.” Duroc looked back towards his marching men. “Keep me informed as we move north. Find the girl.”

  Andrei nodded again and walked off into the forest as Duroc returned to his army.

  Andrei’s wolverine was resting on a boulder a hundred paces into the woods. The beast gave him a growl for a welcome and stepped down off the rock to allow Andrei to mount.

  The pair traveled northeast and easily found the rest of his Scythes as they tracked the princess north.

  Andrei’s wolverine fell in at the front of the group with his nose to the ground. Another growl let Andrei know that his beast was on the scent. Growls echoed along the line behind him.

  They had the girl. Andrei would push the wolverines at full speed to catch her. He wouldn’t take any chances; they’d ride day and night. There’d be no escape for the wolverine’s prey this time.

  Rapp

  The prince grumbled under his breath as he walked. The words were nothingness, pent-up anger and frustration that he needed to let out.

  His boots echoed up to the ceiling of the entrance hall of the palace as he moved towards the front entrance. The guards hauled the tall doors open and he stepped out into the crisp air of the morning.

  Rapp kept moving down the palace steps and turned to the right to head down the plateau’s main street down the center of the rock. There was another summit meeting this morning, a committee on maritime trade regulation, if Rapp remembered the schedule correctly. The only way Rapp would ever attend a discussion like that was if the Ascended One himself was attending.

  The main street running away from the main palace building was lined with houses that normally served as quarters for the palace’s many servants, but during the summit, the rooms had been cleared for the attendees from the various foreign nations. Flags hung over the fronts of the houses to denote the various countries attending the summit.

  The red of Brun, black of Kura, purple of Morada, and so on stretched down the line all the way to the Temple of the Ascended One at the end of the street.

  Rapp kept his eyes on the temple. It sat on the southern end of the plateau and faced the backside of the royal palace. It didn’t predate the palace, but the building was one of the largest religious structures on the Continent. Its cornerstone was said to mark the location of the war god’s ascension to the heavens centuries ago.

  The temple loomed larger and larger as Rapp approached and did nothing to quell his worries and thoughts. Rapp had hoped his frustration and annoyance at his family and the state of the country would dissipate as he approached the temple, but it only got worse. His mind wouldn’t stop dwelling on the war he was missing and the recent history of his father and the Wahrian army.

  They were going to win this war. Erlon was going to fall. But it was the Kurakin who got the glory, not Wahring.

  And what was going to happen to the Continent next?

  The Coalition held a grand peace summit. Was a group of nations who worshiped war really going to let peace reign for decades simply because the big bad Erlonian Empire was no more?

  Rapp climbed the steps of the temple and pushed into the worship chamber. The vaulted ceilings of the temple glowed blue from the morning light pouring in through the tall stained-glass windows on the eastern wall. Rows of pews sat under the temple’s heights and stretched all the way to the foot of the great statue to the Ascended One at the front.

  The stone god stood over seventeen feet tall and raised his sword even higher. His head was large enough for Rapp to see all the features of the god’s face from the back of the hall. He had a strong jaw, curly waves of hair that fell down the side of his face, and wide white eyes that stared down at the prince.

  Fight in battle and win glory. Seek out the strongest opponents and defeat them and win praise from the heavens.

  The Ascended One preached that all men must seek glory on the battlefield. Rapp felt ashamed at his own history on campaign. Looking up at the statue of the great god only made it worse.

  What had Rapp done? What had he ever won?

  He’d led a few small battles during the Erlonian campaigns against Morada in the swamps along the border with Laine. He’d been in the north with his father’s army when the emperor was defeated at Klostern. And he’d been in exile for the rest of the wars, hiding in a foreign country with his mother and sisters like he was a scared prince too, instead of a man who would one day need to be a great warrior king.

  Rapp wanted to cry out and ask for forgiveness from the god that towered over him now. He wanted to plead with the Ascended One, explain that it wasn’t his fault that his family was weak. He needed another chance. He would prove himself worthy of the throne if allowed to fight.

  Rapp stumbled down the aisle between the pews. He averted his eyes from the statue but knew the god’s gaze still followed him.

  Rapp walked around the stone base and the massive feet of the god and let out a heavy breath upon reaching the alcove at the front of the worship area. He would pray to the god later. Right now, he didn’t feel worthy enough to ask for anything from the great warrior.

  The Tribune’s dais rose in steps to form various platforms. The right side held the pulpit for the Tribune to preach from and a throne sat in the middle for the king when he was present for worship. On the wall above the royal chair hung Wahring’s most prized possession.

  The ancient sword of the Ascended One.

  It was strapped over a great shield and was short and wide and sharp, appropriate for the fighting styles of the Ascended One’s own time on the Continent. Its steel always shone bright, even in low light.

  Rapp’s father had brought him here when he was a young boy, before the Erlonians had sacked the city and pushed the family to exile. The Tribune had taken the sword down and let Rapp hold it for a moment. It’d been too heavy for his little hands and he’d felt ashamed at almost dropping it.

  The memories caused the prince to fall to a knee and he closed his eyes before the sword and tried to block out the depressing thoughts. He didn’t pray yet, he didn’t attempt to speak with the Ascended One.

  His mind went to the present war. His father was far off in the west and marching slowly south. The Horde was about to take the capital, if they hadn’t done it already. The eastern theater, along the Lakmian Range, was a stalemate, but would end shortly after the full collapse of Erlon in the west.

  Rapp had missed it all. He didn’t see how he could serve the war god anymore. He didn’t see how he could win glory for the realm and become a great prince who would be an even greater king.

  What would the people say about this war when Rapp rose to the throne? Rapp hadn’t fought in it. He’d missed every major battle.

  A king shouldn’t be viewed as a coward who attended a peace summit instead of fighting with his soldiers.

  Rapp’s mind settled and the right path forward became clear.

  He’d chosen to stay in Citiva on the request of his mother and fat
her. But what did a prince care about the whims of others, even if they were the king and queen?

  Rapp would leave that afternoon. He would pack up and march off with an honor guard of soldiers from the city guard and he would ride to the front in the east to take part in the final battles of this war. There was no sense in waiting for the rest of the delegation to arrive, no sense in attending the summit instead of fighting.

  Rapp would run away, he would—

  The foundation of the temple shuddered under Rapp’s knees. For a full second his mind was terrified that the entire plateau was cracking and the temple and the palace and everything would tumble down on top of the city below.

  But the shaking felt focused. It was only the stone directly under Rapp’s knee that shook.

  The prince’s fear abated quickly. He didn’t quite understand what he felt, but there was somehow a calm coming from the movement.

  “Warrior Prince.”

  The voice shook the pillars of the temple and almost knocked Rapp to the floor. His eyes locked on the sword hanging above him and Rapp knew immediately who was speaking. It seemed impossible, but he knew it was the truth.

  This was the stuff of legends.

  “Warrior Prince,” the voice of the Ascended One said. “A task is laid before you.”

  “Your soldier is at your command, Ascendant General.” Rapp couldn’t get his voice to speak above a whisper. The shuddering of the world had stopped, but the prince’s head spun with every new word from the god.

  This only happened in the stories. The voice of the Ascended One only came to the greatest warriors throughout history and guided them on a quest to prove their worthiness and defeat evil.

  “A traitor stands among your united nations. The empire falls, but a new evil rises.”

  “What evil, great Ascended One? The Erlonians? Lakmia? The Kurakin Horde?” Rapp felt the stone under his knee shudder once more at the mention of the Horde, but the sensation was gone just as quickly as it began.

  “The traitor is in the shadows now, he remains hidden from even me.”

  Rapp kept his eyes on the gleaming steel of the sword and didn’t respond. His heart was beating in time with the god’s words.

  “You will find this person and burn him out. Stay at the summit of nations and protect it. Should it fall, a war you can’t win will engulf your people.”

  The pressure within the temple released.

  “How do I find the traitor? How do I burn him out?” Rapp said.

  The voice didn’t respond again. Rapp collapsed all the way to the floor and lay with his arms spread out and looked up at the high ceiling in disbelief and silence.

  The Ascended One had chosen him. The warrior god had visited Prince Rapp and given him a task, a mission to prove his greatness.

  The task was vague, but Rapp knew he would not fail. He couldn’t fail. This was his path to glory.

  The prince scrambled to his feet and moved back towards the temple doors. All thoughts of the fleeing to the front were forgotten. He had a new war to wage at this summit.

  Rapp stopped halfway and turned to bow at the stone god’s head high above him. He ran out the door and into the bright light of the morning and his mind raced with the thoughts on the god’s words.

  Pitt

  Pitt wanted a fight. Vendome had been nothing, a quick sacking with the loss of Wahrian lives due to their king’s incompetence.

  Now the joint army marched farther south at the extremely slow pace chosen by King Charles. There were bands of Erlonians still out there. Pitt could feel them. He wanted to find them and direct his grand battle before the war ended. But orders held him back. Charles held him back.

  Pitt felt sick. He got up and left his tent and went to the central fire of the camp. His staff stood, but he waved them back down to their seats.

  “No word from Charles?” Pitt said to the communications officer as he poured himself some tea from the man’s kettle.

  “Nothing, sir.”

  Pitt sat down near the fire and held his cup in both hands in front of his face. The army had pushed into the forest south of Vendome and found no sign of any Erlonian force. There were the typical bandits or small groups of militias. But Pitt knew there were more out there farther south.

  Pitt felt the pressure in his mind growing daily. He needed glory. He needed victory on the field and stories to be told back home across the island of Brun.

  His family depended on it.

  Brun was a naval power, there was no glory in the army. The Marines were seen as honorable and a vital part of the Brunian maritime-based military, but Pitt’s army had always been an afterthought.

  Pitt, as the youngest of four sons, had broken away from his family’s tradition of raising naval officers. At Oxtow, he’d joined the land warfare track in order to differentiate from his older brothers.

  That decision had kept him alive where his brothers perished.

  Their father had fallen blockading the Meridien Straight before Three Bridges. His oldest brother drowned during the Moradan campaigns in the straights of Alcalas. The other two sank as part of the same armada just before the emperor was captured and the war fully turned for Brun.

  Pitt’s mother and sisters now sat alone back in Brun and depended solely on his general’s salary.

  His sisters’ marriage prospects were greatly diminished now that their mother was a widow and their only brother fought on land and not at sea.

  But the end of this war would be fought on land by the army. If Pitt could win glory in the last stages of this war, he could return a hero and turn his family’s fortunes around.

  Pitt shook his head. His hopes fell away and his thoughts returned to the present and he remembered his hopeless situation. The Wahrian king would keep this joint army from glory through his slow marching. The Kurakin would defeat the last of Erlon’s soldiers before Pitt even crossed into the central parts of the empire.

  Pitt looked at the maps daily. There was a river called the Branch south of their current position that fed the great Broadwater in the west. Below that were forested hills that the Erlonians called the Dune Forest and even farther south of that would be the ultimate prize at the end of this war.

  The Erlonian capital of Plancenoit.

  The Wahrian king kept the army from that prize. The king wanted to lead the main force. The Brunians under Pitt were the van, but were only allowed to push out so far. The king wanted to keep his flanks consolidated against the threat of an attack that wasn’t ever going to come.

  Now Pitt’s men would spend their second day in a row sitting in the same spot. The soldiers would only grow more restless waiting for the foreign king to catch up. All while the Horde got the glory of the Erlonian capital and capturing the last marshal.

  “Sir, message from General Win.” The aide’s words pulled Pitt out of his thoughts.

  A messenger was brought forward. Pitt offered him some tea but was politely refused.

  “General Win’s men haven’t had any contact in the south, sir. He says the roads are clear and good for marching.”

  Pitt nodded. A lot of good those clear roads would do them right now with the king still lagging behind.

  “Another message, sir.” Another boy arrived next to the first and saluted.

  “Go on, private.”

  “The rearguard have made contact with the Wahrians.”

  Pitt stood up immediately. “Finally.” The word escaped his mouth before he could stop it.

  “King Charles should arrive at our position this evening, is what they said, sir.”

  “Thank you, sir. Take a message back to Win to have him keep up the scouting. We should be on his trail soon after the king arrives. Hopefully in the morning.”

  * * *

  King Charles did arrive later that evening, only far later than expected. The main Wahrian army settled in a field to the north of the Brunian position. They were still establishing a camp when Pitt rode up to meet with the Wahri
ans.

  The king’s tent had been set up first; the rest of the soldiers worked on the others around its position. Pitt was called into the tent and found the king lounging in a chair with a cup filled with wine.

  “General.” King Charles raised his cup in greeting.

  “Your Highness.” Pitt gave only the slightest of bows. “My men are ready to march when you give the order, sir.”

  “Good, good. Have a seat. Wine!”

  The yelled order startled Pitt. Servants came in and poured him a drink and topped the king off.

  “I’m finished with this.” Charles turned his hand down and flicked his fingers over a platter filled with crumbs at his side. The servants gathered up the remains of the meal in a rush.

  The king belched and drank some more wine before addressing Pitt again. “News from the east is that the summit has kicked off. Everyone is praising our conquests and ready to set a lasting peace.”

  “Good, sir.”

  “It’s a great feeling to win a war, don’t you think?” Charles leaned back in his chair and tilted his head side to side to stretch his neck. “And to defeat the armies of Emperor Lannes himself. We should be quite proud.”

  Pitt didn’t correct the king on the fact that the emperor was in exile and had not been opposite them on any of the battles in the current invasion. In fact, Charles had never beaten Lannes in pitched combat before.

  “Sir, my men are ready to move farther south in the morning. We’ll leave at first light.” Pitt had already given the orders for the men to be ready before sunrise tomorrow morning.

  “What’s the rush?” the king said. He shifted around in his chair. The squeaking of cushion fabric filled the tent.

  “Excuse me, sir?” Pitt said.

  “Where are we off to? There’s nowhere for the Erlonians to go. We have them surrounded. The war is already won.”

  “Sir, this is a vast forested region, and not all the Erlonian units have surrendered.”

  “They will,” Charles said. “You’re just like my son, always wanting to talk war and find the next fight. Let us just enjoy the wine and a nice evening for once, shall we?”