Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1) (24 page)

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.

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 quick 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.