Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1) (4 page)

A ladder was
quietly placed at the foot of the city’s outer wall, careful not to disturb the
sleeping city of Hillsford.

The cold breeze
of night hushed and lulled the soldiers that stood watch, the lonely few that
remained of the city’s garrison. Their comrades added to the army marching
north. There was no thought of a counter attack from the Kilgarian tribesmen.
Barely a quarter of their army remained intact. Saris concluded that they would
flee further north to fortify their head village. He was wrong.

Two men
climbed the ladder.

Once they
reached the top, they kicked the ladder into the underbrush, hiding it from
anyone passing by. They hurried to the gatehouse, easily evading the few guards
that remained watchful.

There was only
one guard stationed there overnight, and another patrolling the street.

The two
intruders split up.

One lowered
himself off the wall and onto the top of the gatehouse, dropping to a prone position.
He hung over the side of the building, sneaking a glance through the window. The
guard was desperately fighting off sleep. The intruder slipped off the side of
the small building in complete silence.

His victim
shot awake to feel the cold blade of a dagger enter the base of his skull.

The man held
the guard, noiselessly guiding his body to the floor. He leaned his head out
the door, spotting his partner dragging the other watchman’s limp body into the
shadows of a nearby alley.

He was to wait
there until signaled that the street was clear. After a moment, a shrill
whistle cut through the eerie silence, and he jumped into action. He moved to
the gate, unlatching the wooden brackets that held it shut.

The large door
slowly rose and a group of men, all wearing black leather armor and carrying shortswords
and round bucklers, rushed into the city.

*
* *

Saris took the
old baron of Hillsford’s quarters. The Baron had been dead for a year and there
was still no replacement for the far-off border city. Kuran, the surgeon, had
found a woman from the town to nurse Archaos. She was staying in a room with
him and a few of the other attendants.

A fire roared
in a large, stone hearth. The General was enjoying the comforts of staying in
the city overnight. His usual nights were spent on a cot, in a cold tent. He
welcomed the warmth of a fireplace, plush furniture, and bedding.

Thandril had
found Saris there and told of what he discovered in the north.

Saris stood by
the fireplace, glass of alcohol in hand, wrapped in a thick, fur robe. He had
found some unknown bottle of dark liqueur, hidden in the dead Baron’s office,
to accompany Thandril’s news of his enemies plot to kill him. The fire
flickered, impetuous shadows dancing across the walls. It was the only source
of light, and the harsh glow was daunting.

The druid sat
in an overstuffed chair sipping at his own glass, “We need to move trusted men
into your personal guard. If Melidarius plans to kill you, he will send someone
to do it in the shadows, behind closed doors, not on the battlefield. They will
use deception and guile. I fear we need to be wary of a spy.”

Saris looked
at him, “Do not worry, friend. I only trust you; everyone else is a suspect.
How else do you think I got this rank?” he laughed, “It certainly wasn’t this
ruggedly handsome face.”

“I am General
of the Talurian army because I trust no one. I have never shared my thoughts,
feelings, or fears to anyone; because I
know
, the moment I do, someone
will take advantage—take an edge. I rotate my guard every week from random
companies. Moreover, their Captains can vouch for each of them. I’ve had
assassins try to kill me four times, no doubt sent from one or another of the
house leaders vying for my title.” Saris held out his fingers in an exaggerated
fashion, then swiped them away. “
But
, every one of them I discovered and
personally dismembered, scattering their remains before the trueblood houses as
a warning.”

Thandril
suppressed a grin toward his intoxicated master. “I know you can protect
yourself, but I would feel better if we doubled the guard tonight.”

“Tonight?
Nobody even knows we are here.”

*
* *

A group of
Talurian soldiers moved through the empty street toward the city watch’s main
headquarters.

“Corporal, why
do we have to be doing this in the middle of the night? We haven’t slept in three
days! Can the watchmen not keep a sleeping city under control?” asked one of
the soldiers.

Rurik motioned
for his men to halt.

His eyes were bloodshot
and ringed with dark circles. He had not slept since the funeral for Aamin. “You
all know very well that the city watch has been reduced to nothing. All
Hillsford had was a handful of local men, offering to act as a temporary
militia. Sergeant Linket wants us to check in with the different offices
throughout the city to make sure everything is going smoothly. I have now given
more information than any of you require to follow orders so, if everyone is
finished complaining about not getting their beauty sleep, let us continue.”

Rurik scanned
the ragged group of soldiers, lusting for a complaint to explode upon. Nothing
came.

He sighed.
“Let’s move.”

Shortly after
his company finished escorting the General to Hillsford, Rurik was told by his
Captain that he and a small detachment of soldiers were going to stay in the
city under the command of Sergeant Linket while they marched back north.

Klaric ran up
alongside Rurik. “How are you holding up?”

“Not now.”

He stopped and
pulled Rurik around, “Okay, you need to stop. We need to talk about what
happened. It’s alright to be upset, but killing yourself from exhaustion is not
a good way to grieve. You look horrible—”

Rurik put his
hand up, cutting him off. “Klaric, if you ever touch your commanding officer
like that again…”

“Commanding
officer?” Klaric contorted his face. “
Commanding officer?
I’ve been your
friend for over twenty years, and now my ‘commanding officer’ is threatening
me? I’m just trying to help.” Klaric shook his head and moved back into
formation.

Klaric was
Rurik’s best friend. Meeting as young boys, they shared in every major shaping
event from childhood to adulthood. So, when Rurik signed up for the army,
Klaric was right behind him. Klaric had known Aamin since he was born and felt
every bit a brother to him.

The squadron
walked the rest of the way in silence.

The city watch
headquarters was located near the outer, northern gate. Upon arrival, they
found the building filled with commotion. Local men entering and exiting the
different rooms, equipping themselves with weapons and putting on the city’s
tabard of blue and yellow.

Rurik learned
the man in charge was the retired Sheriff of the city, Gertin—The retired
lawman heard they needed someone with experience and thought it would be nice
to be back at his old station.

“Sheriff! What
is going on here?” Rurik shouted.

Gertin turned
to find the Corporal standing in the doorway to the jail.

“Uh…Sir…I…I
had things going smoothly until more and more men kept showing up to volunteer
and then quickly lost control.” He shook his head, cradling the side of his
face. “The acting Baron of the city has offered a hundred gold coins to every
man that steps forward for service. The offer has attracted every low-life,
thief, and beggar in the city.”

Rurik nodded
his understanding and climbed up onto a desk in the middle of the room. “Everyone
stop!”

The noise was
sucked out of the room, and all the men turned their heads. Snarled faces and
hungry eyes stared back at him.

“If you have
not signed up already, return your weapon and tabard to the quartermaster and leave.
We are not accepting more men. You may all go home or wherever you came from.”

While some of
the men gave in and started making their way back to the armory, a few started
cursing at Rurik and drawing their weapons.

“We were told
that if we came, there would be payment!” shouted a man from the back of the
room.

“Yeah! We want
our hundred gold pieces!” yelled another, moving through the sea of bodies
toward the corporal.

Rurik still
stood atop the desk. His sword quickly unsheathed at the sight of other weapons
being drawn. “It would be wise for all of you to drop your weapons and leave.
Now!
”

Rurik was
flushed with anger. He jumped down off the desk and waved to one of the
soldiers at the door to bring in help. The man who was moving through the crowd
raised his sword, leveling it with Rurik’s throat.

“You are not
going to yell at me now are you?” He said with a toothless grin. Then he
started to laugh and the men around joined in.

“You don’t
want to do this, sir,” Rurik warned.

Klaric rushed
through the doorway, followed by a group of soldiers.

Rurik put his
hand up. “It’s alright Klaric.” He looked back at the man holding the sword to
his throat. “This is your last chance.”

He laughed
again. “Oh, you soldiers are all the same. Just give me my damn money.”

Rurik lashed
out with lightning fast speed and knocked the sword away from the man. Then
proceeded to pull a dagger out of his own belt and pinned the man’s hand to the
desk. He screamed in pain. Blood pooled under his palm, staining the antique
wood.

“Does anyone
else want to question my orders?” Rurik looked around the room intently and witnessed
the gathering mob of ruffians slowly start to break. The headquarters soon
emptied, save for Sheriff Gertin and a handful of signed militia.

“Okay, now
that we have a semblance of order here, let me hear of the progress you are
making, Sheriff.”

“W-well, sir, the
city seems to be calm and under control and, thanks to you, here as well. I
apologize for my lack of ability at handling the situation, S-sir,” the old Sheriff
bowed nervously.

“It’s alright—been
awhile since you’ve dealt with these kinds of men.”

A guard came
running through the door of the jail. “Sheriff! Fenton had not reported in from
the eastern gate for three hours, so I sent a man over to check in. Fenton’s
dead! His body dragged into a nearby alley. Sir, his throat was cut, from ear
to ear.”

Rurik moved past Gertin. “Leave it
to us.”

Chapter 8: Intruder

Thandril carried
the passed-out drunk from the chair to his bed and left to check on the baby.
He walked down the stone hallways of the Keep, stopping occasionally to
appreciate the expensive artwork and antique furniture arranged throughout the
many wide-open living rooms. The baby was in the west wing, under Kuran’s care.
Thandril had to move through the rose garden and inner courtyard just to reach
it.

He went up a
small flight of stairs and rounded the last corner before entering the long
hallway to Kuran’s room. A sharp inhale escaped his lips when he did not find
the two guards from Saris’ private detachment at the door.

Thandril poked
his head in. Kuran was sitting by the fire, puffing on a pipe, while the nurses
lay spread out, asleep on the floor. Archaos lay quietly in a cradle next to
the doctor.

Kuran heard
the slight creak of the wooden door. “Ah, Thandril, here to check on the boy?
Come in.”

The druid
quietly closed the door behind him and took a seat next to Kuran, “Did you send
the guards away?”

“Yes, I did.
They seemed exhausted, and we are fine here, as you can see,” Kuran smiled,
indicating the sleeping ladies around the room and the crib near the fireplace.

“You are fine
now, but I have a feeling something will strike when we least expect it. Melidarius
has planned an attack on Saris. I just want to make sure his son is safe.”

“You are a
good friend to that man.” Kuran rocked back and forth in his chair while taking
another puff of his pipe. The sweet perfumed tobacco filled the air with the
smell of honeysuckle. “He is lucky to have someone looking out for him—someone
who cares about his wellbeing.”

“I am
fortunate to have him. I remember little about my past before meeting Saris. He
was a private in the Emperor’s army at the time he found me,” Thandril paused,
thinking. “Nearly twenty years back now. Saris must have seen something special
in me, in the sobbing boy curled up in the scorched ruins of a desolated
village. He clothed, sheltered and protected me.”

“He has his
moments.” Kuran grinned. “I’ve had my fair share of eccentric dealings with the
General over the last decade.”

Thandril
nodded in understanding. “After a while, I started to develop the special
abilities and powers of my people, a sort of organic spellweaving. I was able
to commune with nature and over time, even learned to change into those very
animals I observed in the wild.”

“That is very
fascinating.” Kuran started packing his pipe once again. “And amazing that you
were able to groom your skills without the guidance of a fellow druid. The last
time I saw another druid was about…thirty-two, thirty-three years ago. A small
tribe moved through a town named Ulam’s Gateway. I was a fresh surgeon from the
capital and had not seen much of the real world, so they were a treat. Ah, to
catch a glimpse of a mystical druid—children’s stories come to life.”

Thandril
smiled. He rarely heard anyone mention seeing his people. Their numbers had
been few even at the best of times.

The women
tossed and turned around on the floor, suggesting the talking was disturbing
their sleep.

“I should go
before we wake the women,” Thandril waved goodnight to Kuran and silently
exited the room.

He returned to
the eastern wing of the Keep by way of the garden. The night was cold and damp;
dew gathering on the leaves of the closed, sleeping flowers.

He stopped at
the soldiers’ quarters, having asked to bunk in the barracks instead of a room
like Saris’, a room fit for a noble. He didn’t like the comforts of the upper
class. Thandril was a warrior and loved the outdoors and nature, not cushiony
beds with soft, feather blankets and gaudy room decorations.

He decided to
check in with Saris’ private guards and alerting them to the possibility of an
assassination attempt. Thandril ran up a spiral staircase to the upper level of
the barracks. He reached the door and gripped the handle when he heard a faint
slashing sound. He flung open the door to see the six bunks, lined out three to
a wall, occupied by impaled corpses.

At each bed, a
man stood off to the side gripping a sword, driven into the sleeping soldiers.
Thandril burst into the room and let out a bloodcurdling roar. The black-clad
murderers faded into smoke and collected in the center of the room, leaving a
single man standing with his sword drawn. Eyes of bright gold pierced through
the darkness, staring at the massive druid.

He mockingly
saluted Thandril before dropping his weapon to the floor and quickly running
across the room. He leapt through the window, falling to the courtyard below.

Without any
hesitation, Thandril ran to the broken window and dove out. He landed hard on
the grassy lawns of the courtyard and rolled to his feet, running after the
man. His legs churning the manicured landscape. Wet grass sent glittering
fireworks into the moonlight.

Thandril,
realizing he was slowly falling behind, stopped and knelt down, thrusting his
fingertips into the damp soil. The ground around the intruder started to shift
and he lost his footing, falling over into the grass. Thick strands of weeds
and vines shot out of the ground entangling him.

Thandril
resumed his run and was now less than fifty yards away. As he got closer, a
shadowy haze whirled around his trapped prey, multiple copies of the man
appearing alongside him to pull and tear the vines away. The trespasser broke
loose right as Thandril reached him. The fake copies grabbed onto Thandril’s
legs and torso, dragging him to the ground.

Once again, the
escapee was increasing the gap between them. Thandril threw the duplicates off
of him one by one, each disappearing in a cloud of smoke as they crashed into
the surrounding buildings. He noticed the man was headed toward a high wall
along the southern edge of the Keep. There was nowhere for him to go. The
runner picked up speed as he drew closer to the high wall and, nearly twenty
feet out, more duplicates appeared next to him.

When he
reached the wall, one duplicate knelt down making a step for another to stand on,
while that one lifted another onto his shoulders, giving a fourth the needed
boost to reach the top of the wall.

Within a
moment, the copies had made a human ladder and the man was being pulled up. As
Thandril reached the wall, the men dissipated into the night air, leaving the
intruder smiling down on him from atop the wall.

Thandril
shouted and slammed his fists against the stone. Deciding against shape
changing and going after the man in bird form, he made his way back to the Keep
to alert the guards of more possible intruders. He needed to see the General.
The enemy had learned that Saris was in Hillsford.