Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1) (22 page)

She caught
Rurik’s eye and smiled at him.

“Drokel,” Hyle
said, slightly nodding his head.

“Hyle,” The
Lord said in return.

“Gentlemen,
what a treat to have both of you with us today,” Gretio interjected.

“Like you
didn’t know he would be here.” Hyle waved at Drokel. “I know he has something
to do with this.”

“Why does any
of this concern you, old man,” Drakken took to his feet.

He was more
athletic than he seemed from afar, Amira thought.

“Maybe
because, when this man was arrested, my grandchildren were also taken into
custody.” Hyle’s voice boomed.

Gretio stepped
between the two and faced Hyle. “I assure you, the children are completely
safe.”

“I will be the
judge of that,” said Hyle, “I would like them to both be released over into my
custody immediately. And—”

“No! Wait a
second,” Drokel put his hand out, “That is unacceptable. One of them is a child
born from a Talurian and Harmite union—a disgusting sexual act, disgracing our
proud and strong bloodline.”

“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!”

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!”