Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1) (17 page)

“Thank you,”
He said, nodding to his rescuers.

Mathis bowed
in response.

“You’re
welcome, Captain,” said the soldier.

Captain
Shaymesh was the oldest officer in service to the king. For long he had wanted
to retire and move to the middle of nowhere, pass his final years in peace.
But, he was, until the Tearanei appeared, the strongest magic user among the
Merkadian ranks. He was needed and knew it. He couldn’t run from his duty.

“I didn’t
think I would need to witness that healing magic of yours so soon, friend,”
Shaymesh grinned, touching over his injured body parts, even though the pain
had faded. He started to take a step, braced by Mathis.

“It takes a
lot out of you,” said Mathis, “I’ll help.”

The two men
tediously made their way back to camp, escorted by the troops who had followed
Mathis. It had been one hell of a night.

Rurik walked
back to the apartment in shock of what had happened. His whole life, an
intricate front to an underground rebellion, and now he was responsible for a
baby whom he didn’t know existed before that night. He was lost in thought when
he arrived at the front door but jolted back to reality when he reached for the
door handle that was now a smashed in hole.

The warrior in
him took over.

He laid the
still sleeping baby next to the door and pulled a long dagger from his boot.
The door creaked as he entered the house, creating more noise than he would
have liked. The front room was destroyed, furniture upturned, bookshelves lying
on their sides, and small patches of blood dotting the floor. Thinking the
events here had happened some time ago, his stomach dropped, he was too late.
Then he heard a shout from one of the back rooms.

“You bitch!
Open the door!”

Rurik silently
moved into the hallway. All the doors he passed were shut, but at the end of
the hall, he found a tattered and bloody Galro, pounding on Amira’s door.

“Hey! What is
going on?” Rurik yelled. Galro spun around.

His face,
etched in a snarl, quickly changed to a look of worry. “Sir, there is someone
in there with Amira. She needs help.”

Rurik noticed Galro’s
arm was nearly severed, hanging by a small piece of flesh at his elbow, blood
pooling at his feet. Two of his fingers were also missing.

Galro meet
Rurik’s gaze. “Guess I can’t really play this off can I?”

Galro charged,
but Rurik easily dodged the wounded fighter, pushing him to the side and
pulling his arm behind his back. Galro thrashed about, unable to break free
from the hold.

Suddenly,
another man stepped up behind Rurik. “Well, look what happens when you try to
do things yourself.” He walked around the two men, shaking his head as he
looked at Galro. “You were supposed to give me the signal when everyone was
settled in. You don’t have the finesse for this type of job, boy.”

Rurik held his
blade to Galro’s throat. “Who the hell are you?” He dug the tip further into
his neck. “I’ll kill him!”

The man
shifted his black eye patch and then laughed. “People know me as Krul and I
don’t give a shit about that man. Means nothing to me.”

Rurik suddenly
remembered seeing the man before, back in Dartholme, during their escape.
“Wait! You were in Dartholme!”

“Yes, that was
me,” Krul said, coolly. “I was sent to kill the woman and child, and that worm
in your arms is our spy.”

“
Our
?”
Rurik asked, “Who are you working with?”

Galro
unexpectedly twisted and landed a sharp elbow in Rurik’s side, freeing him from
his grasp. Galro shot forward, relishing his freedom. Krul reached out with
lightning fast speed and caught Galro by the collar of his tunic, slamming him
onto the floor. Without a moment’s thought, he pulled a knife from his belt and
pinned Galro to the ground by his throat. Galro died wearing a look of shock
and confusion—killed by his own partner.

Did he not
know the evil of his company?

“He is no
longer important.” The man straightened, wiping blood on the sides of his
pants.

Rurik took a
step back, raising his dagger point to the man. “You’re insane.”

“Yes, actually
I believe I am.” Krul grinned.

The door
behind Rurik opened, and out stepped a bloodied, but determined Gleb, and behind
him, was Amira holding the baby, Elop unconscious at her feet.

“Go back
inside,” said Rurik.

Gleb eyed
Galro’s body, and then took a look at the black clad man. “I think I will
stay.”

“Hmm…the slave
boy to the rescue. How touching.”

Krul pulled a
long, thin blade off his back and then cocked his head to the side. “Shall we
get this over with?”

Gleb charged
first, but Rurik pushed him to the side and stepped forward to meet Krul’s attack.
With a quick strike, Rurik made Krul jump back enough for him to take Gleb’s
shortsword. Now with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, Rurik made
his move. He parried and dodged, and with each swing, forced Krul further and further
down the hallway, back to the front room.

“Amira!” Rurik
shouted over his shoulder.

“Yes?” She
answered, weakly.

“Get Gleb back
inside.” Rurik jumped to the side, avoiding a dangerously close, downward
sweep. “Where is Klaric?”

He saw her out
of the corner of his eye, tugging Gleb back through the door. “We haven’t seen
him since Galro attacked. He was in Galro’s room when we went to sleep. Want me
to—”

“No, I don’t”
Rurik jumped over an upturned chair and swiped at Krul. “Go back inside the
room and block the door. I’ll check on him.”

“Would you
shut up and fight me!” shouted Krul. He spun around and landed a cut on Rurik’s
arm. The sharp pain caused him to lose his dagger.

“Now. Pay
attention.”

Rurik glared
at Krul.

“Yes…there may
be a little fight in there.” That grin never left his face.

A crash came
from down the hallway, coming from within Klaric’s room. A muffled voice
shouted through the door. With a sudden jolt, the door stressed from a heavy
blow—a second thud, and then a third. The door broke apart, and a tied up
Klaric came flying out through the splintered wood. He lied on his stomach,
cursing his face red.

Krul laughed.
“You people are a strange bunch.”

Rurik ignored
Klaric for the moment but used his diversion to an advantage. He lunged
forward, swiping Krul’s sword point away, and landing his shoulder square in
his chest. The hit pushed the air from Krul’s lungs, forcing his blade from his
hand. He tumbled back ten feet to the wall.

Rurik charged
the crumbled body, lifting his sword into the air, ready to land a killing
blow. As he reached Krul, there was a quick jerk and a flash of metal. Right
before he brought the sword down on Krul’s head, blinding pain shot through his
body, nearly making him miss his target. But the strike hit true, and the sword
held suspended in the killer’s skull.

A
blood-splattered Rurik staggered backward, gripping his stomach.

He released
his hands, revealing a dagger protruding from his abdomen. The room started to
fade away, and he dropped to the floor. Rurik tried to form words, but
couldn’t. He heard Klaric shouting for the others, before the faint light of
the room gave way to darkness.

*
* *

“Rurik, can
you hear me?” A delicate voice asked, almost pleaded.

His temples
pounded with each quiet word, like earthquakes rumbling out from the depths of
his skull. 

He tried to
move his lips. They were slimy and wet, but his mouth was unbearably dry.
“Water…”

A cup pressed
against his lips, but the water wouldn’t stay in his mouth. Someone poured more
water in, but, this time, tilted his head back and closed his mouth shut. The
hand was cool on his fevered skin. He took one more gulp and then drifted unconscious
again.

*
* *

“What is wrong
with him?” Klaric asked.

Amira set the
cup down. “The dagger must have been poisoned.” She grabbed a towel and dipped
it into a bowl of water before placing it on Rurik’s brow. “The wound itself
was not bad and avoided his major organs—there is no other answer for his
declining health.”

The two stood
in Rurik’s room, looking down at his pale body.

“Well, will he
make it?” Klaric paced back and forth. “I should never have trusted Galro. That
son of a bitch! I knew something was wrong with him. I had a feeling.” He
slammed his fist into his other palm.

“Just calm
down,” Amira said, “He is strong. He will pull through.” She put her hand on
Rurik’s cheek. “The fever may be breaking. Go check on Gleb.”

Klaric left
the room with a grunt.

Amira pulled
Rurik’s blanket back and checked the wrappings again. She did not have the
right supplies to stitch and bandage him correctly, but she found suitable
items around the house to get him through the rest of the night. She would look
for the proper dressings tomorrow when the stores reopened.

A little cry
came from her room. She knelt down and kissed Rurik’s forehead, before leaving
him to sleep.

She entered
the hallway, quietly closing the door behind her. Gleb and Klaric had finished
cleaning the front room. The two dead bodies laid in the center with sheets
draped over them. Elop was calmly sitting in a chair. He had taken quite a
smack to the head during all the events.

The group had
started piecing together what happened.

Galro had
stayed awake, waiting for his opportunity. His first victim was going to be Klaric
since he was in the same room. But, he didn’t account for Klaric’s paranoid,
light sleeping. A foot from the bed, Klaric shot up to find Galro with a knife
in hand.

They wrestled
down to the floor, and sometime during that, Galro lost the knife but gained a
heavy candle stand from the side table. Klaric slumped to the floor with the
blow. Galro tied Klaric’s feet and hands and stuffed a cloth into his mouth.

Gleb started
pounding on the door. It had been locked. “What is going on in there? Open the
door!”

Galro opened
it and took a step into the hall, quickly closing and locking it behind. “I ran
into a bookshelf. Such a fool. Sorry if I woke you.”

Gleb was a
perceptive one and saw through Galro’s lie, even if he didn’t have the fighting
marks to prove it. Galro lunged at Gleb, but the young slave was too quick. He
dodged the attack and ran into the front room. Elop was waiting. Galro turned
the corner as Elop blindly swung one of the soldier’s shortswords. The blade
cut so deep into Galro’s arm that the limb spun around by the last piece of
connecting skin, spraying blood across the wall.

Galro fell to
his knees, screaming out in pain.

Down the hall,
Amira yelled for the men. Gleb and Elop ran for the door. Galro collected
himself, numbing his pain with anger. He spun to his feet, grabbed a small, yet
heavy, stone figurine off of a nearby shelf and launched it down the hallway.
The missile struck Elop at the base of his skull. He collapsed feet from Amira’s
door.

Galro charged
forward. Amira and Gleb managed to pull Elop into the room.

As the traitor
neared the door, he stretched out his hand to force himself in. Amira slammed
the door shut, catching Galro’s hand. A cry of agony roared through the door. Amira
looked down to see two gnarled fingers lying on the flooring. Galro pounded on
the door, cursing and releasing all sorts of obscenities into the air.

That was when
Rurik had returned to the house.

Klaric touched
Amira’s shoulder, freeing her from her thoughts. “Will you be fine, if Gleb and
I go get rid of the bodies?”

“Yes, I’ll be
alright.” She smiled at Elop. “Maybe I can talk him into cooking me a little
something.”

The mention of
cooking brought a smile to the man.

“Okay. We
should be back by first light,” Klaric said, motioning for Gleb to help him carry
the first body.

Again a cry
came from her room.

She had
forgotten what had drawn her away from Rurik’s side in the first place. Inside,
she found Archaos fast asleep, but in a bundle of blankets beside him was the
small baby they had found outside the door of the apartment.

He cried out
minutes after Rurik and Krul’s struggle ended. The cry had startled them. They
were already on edge. He must have been with Rurik. She had pulled him into her
arms and carried him into the room with Archaos, cooing in his ear to calm him.

Now, he was
wiggling around, tears dripping down his face. Amira held him close, rocking
him back and forth.

“Who
are
you, little one?” She asked.

With the baby
in her arms, she walked back over to Rurik’s room.

She looked
down at him. “What happened out there tonight? And how do you know this little
guy?” She pushed a loose strand of his hair off his forehead. “You better come
back to us.” The last she said in a pleading whisper.

The summons
came and Kaillum grunted to his feet. His father had sent a runner, calling him
to the war council. Ducking out the entrance of his tent, Kaillum scanned their
massive army in the early morning light. He struggled through a few restless
hours of sleep after the late attack by the Talurians.

The enemy had
been able to kill nearly three hundred men, with only thirty of their own, and
the Talurian Captain and druid made it back to the Keep alive. It had been a
savage blow to the Targa tribe. Their people made up the majority of forces in
that area of the camp.

Kaillum
reached the side of camp as Mathis and Shaymesh were returning from their
chase. He had missed everything, yet stood witness to the results of the silent
bloodshed. The bodies still lay in their tents, as if waiting to awake with the
morning, never knowing what hit them.

Now, he was on
his way to his father’s command tent. It was the first morning of the campaign,
and their strongest ally, Taverous, had fallen after the battle against the
shadow demons. Much needed to be discussed.

He saluted the
guards at the door and walked into the tent, making his way to his seat off to
the side of Melidarius. A large, round table had been set up in the middle of
the room. Melidarius sat apart, slightly elevated, with Kaillum and Dageros off
to each side and a third seat for their sister, Fayeth, but she had not
returned from her mission of mapping out the local geography.

Around the
table sat General Vyker, Chief Amhar of Chargon, Chief Rowkar of Targa, Chief Equim
of Kilgar, Commander Ceth of the Kitamites, Captain Shaymesh, Arclite of the
Tearanei, sitting in for Taverous, and some select Lieutenants, who were
privileged to observe the war council.

From the look
on everyone’s face, Kaillum knew an argument had been taking place before he
arrived. Rowkar of Targa was livid.

Melidarius
stood to his feet. “Rowkar, the attack was completely to our surprise. We saw
no enemy movement coming from the city, and attention was directed to Taverous’
ailment at the time.”

“No excuse!” Rowkar
shouted, “If those were your men, I think you would feel differently!”

“If those were
my men, they wouldn’t have been caught sleeping,” Equim whispered to Amhar.

The remarked
carried too much volume, reaching Rowkar’s ears. “You! You have no room to
talk! The Talurians destroyed your mightiest fortress in days. Your warriors
fought like they
were
asleep.”

Equim jumped
to his feet, his chest heaving up and down. Rowkar rose to meet him. The alliance
was fragile to say the least.

“Men,” Kaillum
said, motioning for them to retake their seats. “This is what they want. Our
victory in this war can only come from our power in numbers. We must act as
one. There is no ‘your men’ or ‘my men’. We are
the
alliance—the
greatest army that has amassed on this island in our recorded history. That is
only possible because of
each
one of you.” Kaillum pointed at his father
and the three other Chiefs. “We cannot falter.”

General Vyker
was nodding in appreciation of Kaillum’s words. “The Prince speaks wisdom. In furthering
our joining of armies and, in hopes of tightening bonds, I suggest we stop
keeping soldiers in areas of their own kind. We must not have a Kilgarian camp,
Targan camp, Chargon camp, and a Merkadian camp.”

The Chiefs
accepted the idea and sent runners of their own to inform the necessary people.

“This is
good,” Melidarius said, “We show that we can act differently than those
bastards inside their high stone walls. Now, we must decide our next move. This
will be an open forum. Feel free to offer any idea. Nothing will be dismissed.”

“We need to
attack now!” Taverous burst into the tent held up by Mathis and Lasal. His face
was pale, his eyes deeply sunken in, his chest laboring for air.

“Sorry, your
majesty, he insisted on coming,” Mathis said, “He has been conscious for a mere
five minutes.”

“Do not make
excuses for me!” Taverous trembled, “Balar…his name is Balar. My brother.”

“Calm
yourself,” Shaymesh said, taking Mathis’ place at the old man’s side. His large
frame dwarfed Taverous, exaggerating his fragility. “Explain, my friend.”

“Thank you,
Shaymesh,” Taverous put his hand on the druid’s shoulder. “The fear coming to
reality overwhelmed me.” Slowly, he composed himself. “I had two brothers at one
time, Balar and Rykin. To not make this story long, Balar had turned evil,
wielding death magic, and waged war on our own people. In the end, Rykin
invoked a spell that would kill Balar but sacrifice his own life. This was
centuries ago.”

The Chiefs looked
at one another, realizing how old Taverous was implying that he was.

Taverous
continued. “Balar has somehow returned. I had no proof, until last night, when
he tried to kill me.” His Tearanei were standing uneasily. They had an immense
fear of Taverous’ brother. “He has grown stronger. He used an attack that would
have killed me years ago, but, as he has grown stronger, so have I. He will not
have an easy shot like that again.”

“With his
power, combined with the Talurian soldiers, we cannot win.” Chief Equim said.

“Hold fast,
great Chief,” said Taverous, “That brings me back to attacking now. His power
is great but intensely greater while the darkness of night covers us. We need
to take ground away from them
now
before we have to survive another
night. Those shadow demons were a test—a sampling of his weaker summons.”

“Your
majesty,” Vyker stepped forward, addressing King Melidarius, “Our army is ready
to march at your word. Personally, I am aching for some combat.”

Melidarius sat
quietly, mulling over the information that Taverous had provided. “What do the
Chiefs think?”

Each one
nodded in turn. Rowkar and Equim thirsted for blood. They had both taken
casualties already.

“Very well.
General Vyker, set up the first assault,” Melidarius said, “Don’t send everyone
in at once. I would like to see the strength of their defenses inside the
outlying buildings. Then we will only have the surrounding palisades to breach
before laying siege to the Keep.”

The men
concluded their planning and had chosen Kaillum, Arclite, and Captain Shaymesh
to lead the strike team. The leaders feared what traps and surprises awaited
their troops, but this war would not be won by sitting back and
waiting—especially with Balar on the Talurians’ side.

*
* *

An hour after
the war council had concluded, Kaillum found himself checking over his blade—a
present from his father, given to him on his eighteenth birthday. The emblem of
the Merkadian Royal house graced the hilt. Carrying this blade signified Kaillum
as the eldest Prince and heir to the throne of Merkadia.

He didn’t
always feel the part, but it was inevitable. Lately, he had been thinking that
it might be better if he died in some heroic battle during the war, releasing
his responsibilities to Dageros. But, dying, in the hope of escaping duty,
isn’t really heroic.

He shook away
his thoughts and walked out of the armory.

General Vyker
stood outside, flanked by Shaymesh and Arclite. “Your highness, are you ready?”
The warriors stood ready for command, heavily armed and eager for combat.

Kaillum
nodded. “I am.”

The General
walked a mount over to Kaillum. “For you.” He patted the horse. “Remember, I’ll
be close behind. My mounted support will be ready at a moment’s notice.”

Kaillum waved
the horse away. “I will march with my soldiers.”

Vyker grinned
in acceptance.

Kaillum faced
his company—three hundred soldiers. Arclite and Shaymesh were his Captains. He
gave them a quick hand motion, and they ordered everyone into a march. They
moved down the hillside toward the charred buildings of Hillsford.

“This will get
interesting no doubt,” commented Shaymesh. He twitched his fingers in the air,
causing the ground to ripple debris out of their path.

“Prince, I
will keep an eye on you,” said Arclite, in his calm, deep voice. “You can focus
on your command.”

“First off,” Kaillum
started, “Use my name. I’m not fond of being called by my title. And second, I
am going to need you with the first wave. If this, Balar, has some magical
surprises in store, they will need you.”

“Yes, your highne—Kaillum.”
Arclite bowed and jogged forward along the line of soldiers.

“These people
interest me,” Shaymesh said, smiling. “I rather like them. I have had some very
enlightening conversations about healing magic with that, Mathis, fellow.”

“I
know
we will be grateful to them when this is all over,” Kaillum responded,
distracted with his thoughts.

As they
approached the city, Kaillum scanned the burnt out structures. His forces could
be easily ambushed if they moved through the city in one large group. He
ordered the company to spread out and approach the buildings in groups of ten.

He cautiously
started down an abandoned street, motioning for Shaymesh to lead another group
down the parallel avenue. Now, being blocked by the city buildings, Kaillum was
blind to the rest of his forces. The mission did not provide much chance for
force management; hopefully, the warriors were somewhat self-reliant.

With a glance
back at Vyker and his mounted soldiers, Kaillum pushed deeper into the city.
The majority of buildings were reduced to their bare frame, but the ones that
could still house soldiers had to be cleared. They could not afford to have
enemy troops at their rear.

Suddenly, a loud
crash echoed through the city. Kaillum followed the sound and ran around the
corner of demolished housing. A team of soldiers had entered a building at the
end of the street, and the support beams had been rigged to collapse. The whole
team had been smashed under the weight of the second floor. Another crash came
from further away, the Talurians knew they had to check the builds and were
going to make them pay for each one.

Kaillum called
a soldier over. “Run along the streets. Spread the word that buildings are to
be searched by a single man. We haven’t seen any enemy troops, and we cannot
risk so many lives.” The soldier saluted and left the group.

A howl cried
out through the city. Kaillum swung in the direction of the sound. In response,
mounds of debris that littered the sides of the streets shifted and bodies
stood to their feet. He didn’t hesitate. He charged the closest enemy and
launched a well-placed strike that severed the man in two, cleaving him at his
waist. He dispatched the other two before they could retaliate. Out of
immediate danger, he looked his enemies over. They were not regular soldiers.
They were corpses—misshapen men.

“What foul
magic is this?” Kaillum stepped back.

A scream came
from behind him. The four soldiers with him were fighting off a large group of
the undead warriors. He moved to help when his ankle was grabbed. The hand
belonged to the torso he had detached. The corpses started to right themselves.
He jabbed his sword down, freeing his foot.

“Regroup!” Kaillum
shouted, running to a nearby intersection.

There he found
Captain Shaymesh and a large group of warriors fending off wave after wave of
undead. The Captain shouted orders from within the circle he had arranged while
lobbing green orbs of energy over their heads. The undead blasted apart with
the assault, but crawled, piece by piece, back to their counterparts.

Kaillum made a
running leap over the line of soldiers and moved to the side of Shaymesh. “We
must hold this spot. Vyker will arrive soon.”

Blasts of
energy surged along the next street over, and soon Arclite could be seen battling
two undead soldiers. They looked different than the rest—more complete. They
lacked the gruesome holes and missing limbs that the regular undead fighters
had, and they wielded long, wooden staves.

Arclite had
lost his swords, and the flashes of yellow energy were coming from the contact
between Arclite’s forearms and the constant staff attacks. The glow around his
hands grew with each block and, with one of the Staffwielder’s mishaps, Arclite
discharged the energy in a fiery combustion, enveloping both his attackers,
leaving them withering in pain.

They didn’t
revive.

Arclite
hurried over to the blockade. “Their only weakness is their heart. Without
destroying the heart, the bodies will always put themselves back together and
not always the same way.”

“We are being
overwhelmed,” said Shaymesh.

The main
street gave view to Vyker galloping down the hillside with his mounted forces
in tow. “Reinforcements are coming!” Kaillum shouted to his troops. But, as if
answering his statement, a beam of red light shot from atop the walls of the Keep.
It sped overhead, past Kaillum and his men. It reached the border of the
buildings and expanded into a red, translucent wall. The first of Vyker’s
riders hit the wall and turned to ash. The General barely halted in time. His
riders rode back and forth along the wall, looking for a way into the city.

Watching from
atop the hillside of the camp, Mathis and Lasal jumped into action. They weaved
a network of bright yellow beams, extending it out to the shimmering wall.
Taverous, too weak to add to the weave directly, leaned forward and placed his
hands on the two Tearaneis’ shoulders, channeling energy through them.

Kaillum watched
in vain as they tried to break through the magical defense. His group was
slowly losing men, even with the power of Shaymesh and Arclite.

Arclite turned
to Kaillum, “I must help.”

Kaillum nodded
and switched spots with him along the line of soldiers.