Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1) (6 page)

Gleb turned
the lever attached to the pulley device, lowering his bucket into the well. He
worked slowly, taking advantage of the change in his duties.

Before the
commotion started, he had been rebuilding a section of the city’s outer wall.
Now, without the previous jobs available for the male slaves, they were spread
throughout the Keep, helping with whatever small chores needed to be done.

A breeze
kicked up and he straightened his unusually tall frame. He smiled as the cool
touch of morning tried to soothe the heat of the sun.

He had been
moving buckets of water from the well to the barracks for a day now and
relished the light work. The young man was only nineteen and, Harmite by ancestry,
was born into a life of slavery.

When everyone
stopped to see the amassing group of soldiers outside the Keep’s walls, Gleb
continued on with his work without pause. He was a diligent worker and, in his
free time, which for a slave was only eight hours on Seventh Day, he dedicated
himself to learning. This included anything and everything a person in his
situation was able to access: languages, different peoples’ histories, other
cultures, and the mostly-forgotten Harmite lore of his ancestors.

“Gleb!”

Gleb, so deeply
lost inside his head, almost didn’t hear his friend Jarak calling him from
across the courtyard.

The fellow
Harmite jogged over, “Hey! This man might be able to use you for something.”
Jarak pointed to a giant man that followed close behind. “The soldiers were
spreading the word that they needed to find someone who spoke Kitam—to assist
the General. I thought of you.” He smiled.

Jarak was a
nobleman’s slave. His constant exposure caused him to be less intimidated by
the Talurian people. With his positions throughout the noble society, he also
had acquired a more refined look and demeanor. His clothes were always immaculately
pressed and his hair always at a perfect low shave.

Despite the
outward change, Gleb still saw the same young Harmite he had known since
childhood. To their sadness, since Jarak moved from the labor jobs to indoor
services, they had slowly drifted apart.

“I know you
love to learn the more obscure languages of the island, so I thought
perhaps...” Jarak twirled his hand in the air.

“I
have
studied a few of the mountain people’s languages and unique dialects,” Gleb
responded while keeping his eyes toward the ground as a slave should, not to
disrespect the man with Jarak. “What would the General need with that?”

“This man—”
started Jarak.

The tall man
stepped forward, “My name is Thandril. My master is in need of me elsewhere, so
I need to find someone, besides myself, who can speak the difficult language.”
Thandril reached over and tilted Gleb’s face up, “You do not need to humble
yourself before me, young man.”

Gleb was
surprised by the breach in protocol.

“The army
outside the walls speaks Kitam. I need you to translate messages for General
Saris while I am away. Can you do that for me?”

The young man
nodded nervously.

“Good, thank
you,”

Thandril
walked away, and Jarak followed him while flashing a broad smile back at Gleb.

He mouthed the
words, “Good job.”

As the two
walked away, a soldier came up to Gleb and motioned for him to follow.
Reluctantly, he fell in behind.

What have I
gotten myself into…?

*
* *

The guard left
Gleb standing outside the deceased Baron’s library—a large room, which
dominated a good portion of the eastern wing of the Keep. The man had thought
himself a scholar and enjoyed governing a quiet town. It provided ample time to
indulge in his intellectual hobbies.

Gleb stood for
a moment, anxiously rubbing at his wrists. His fingers moving over the scarred
lines of his slave brandings.

He looked down
at his clothing. They were muddy from the day’s work, and he felt embarrassed
to meet the General in such condition. Hesitantly, he reached out to turn the
metal handle. The heavy door creaked open, and the warmth of a fire rushed out
the doors.

“Shut that
door! Damn it!” A strong, commanding voice yelled from inside.

Gleb fumbled
the latch closed.

Standing with
his back against the door, he scanned the room for the General. The library was
awe-inspiring, rows and rows of bookcases lined the floor while, against the walls,
books stretched from floor to ceiling, creating three separate levels. A
wheeled ladder was attached to a metal pole running the length of the crown
molding, allowing easy access to even the most seemingly out-of-reach books. Beautiful
pillars of marble lined the room, and candles shone atop twisted wrought-iron
holders. 

“Who’s there?”
shouted the voice again.

“Sorry, I’m
coming,” Gleb yelled back.

He moved in
the direction of the voice, swerving through the books. He reached an open area
furnished with antique couches, chairs, and study desks. Moving around another
bookcase, Gleb almost ran into the man he had met in the courtyard

Thandril,
he said his name was.

Quickly fixing
his gaze to the floor, “Sorry, sir.” Gleb apologized. “I was not watching my
step close enough.”

“It’s alright.
General Saris waits for you.” He pointed to a chair with its back toward them.
A black and silvered head could be seen over the cushioning. “I was just
leaving.” The man took a slight bow and moved past him.

Gleb swallowed
hard and walked to the chair.

He moved to
the side of Saris and bowed a formal greeting, “Sir, I am at your service.”

Saris took his
eyes off the book he was reading and slowly looked Gleb over, “You took long
enough. And you are defacing this magnificent library, tramping around with all
that dirt and grime falling off of you.”

Gleb kept his
eyes down, “I am sorry, sir. Would you like me to go bathe and return at a
later time?”

Saris dropped
the book and bolted to his feet, standing with his face inches from Gleb’s.
“No! I do not want you to go
bathe
! We have an army outside these walls
if you haven’t noticed! No man, especially a slave, has the luxury of bathing
right now!”

Gleb stood,
trembling from the verbal assault. “I was not thinking, sir. I apologize. I am
here to aid in your research of the Kitamite people.”

The red in
Saris’ face slowly dissipated and he rested back down on his chair. Speaking
much softer than before, “Of course, I know why you are here.” He straightened
the collar of his uniform, “I am sorry for the outburst. It was uncalled for.”

Gleb proceeded
cautiously, not wanting to bring forth another violent explosion, “W-what would
you like to know first?”

Saris placed
his hand on the book in his lap. “I’ve learned some things from these books, but
there’s a lot of information and not a lot of time. First, they have with them
some magic users. Is this normal for their people?”

“No, not at
all. They are a tribe of hunter-gatherers. They usually move around in small
groups. The harsh winter of their homeland, near the base of the Merkadian
mountains, doesn’t support much but the hardiest of plants.”

“Yes, the
Merkadians. I read that while the Kitamite people have never had bad relations
with the Merkadians, they still remain separate. Surprising, since the rest of
the smaller people groups in the area, have joyfully sworn fealty to King Melidarius.”

“Maybe they
are allied now? That would explain the weaponry I heard the men speaking of.”
Gleb had a thoughtful look on his face.

Saris caught
the stare, “What is it?”

“Well, the
strange thing about this situation is that I didn’t believe there to be
this
many Kitamites alive. There are thousands of men outside these walls, and a
typical tribe family would only number twenty or so. There may be more to this
than we know.”

Gleb found himself
looking Saris in the face, not keeping his eyes lowered during the
conversation.

“What is your
name, slave?” Saris asked.

“Gleb, sir.”

“How did you
get to be such an educated young man?”

“When I was
younger, before my mother died, she told me to take every chance to learn about
this world we live in. She said that, since I was born into a life of slavery,
the only freedom I have, is the freedom of thought and knowledge. I learned to
read from another slave, and I barter for used books at the beggar markets on
Seventh Day.”

Saris looked
Gleb in the eyes, “Your mother sounds like she was a smart woman, and I can see
she raised a smart boy. She is right, you are
nothing
because of the
blood in your veins, but an educated slave is a valuable slave. You can get
away from this filthy labor work.”

Saris
collected himself, “In any case, you have given me some things to think about.
I would like you to go find Corporal Kaster and work on making contact with the
Kitamites. You are dismissed.”

He waved Gleb
away and started sorting through another pile of books to take back to his
room.

*
* *

A cold, hard
storm from the east reached Hillsford by nightfall.   Torches were being lit
along the walls and throughout the crowded, wet courtyard. It had been one day
since the enemy army had shown themselves. They did not move any closer and, so
far, left the people outside the gate alone. But new fires were started in
different untouched areas of the city every couple of hours and the people, in
and around the Keep, were getting sick from the thick, smoke-filled air.

Rurik found
the General sitting at a desk by the fireplace in his room, flipping through a
dusty book. “Sir, the air is worsening still. We have filled all the rooms and
still nearly two hundred people remain outdoors. Not to mention the citizens
still waiting outside the gate. More and more are falling ill.”

Waiting for a
reply, the Corporal noticed the largely discarded pile of already thumbed
through books next to the desk. Saris had been held up inside his room or in
the library, since Thandril left, with orders for only Rurik or the slave,
Gleb, to be allowed in.

The General slowly
looked away from the book and up at him, “This baron had a very extensive
library of history, military, and cultural anthropology books. I have found
more information about the Kitam tribe, and the conversation with that nervous
slave boy added a little more insight.”

Rurik took a
seat next to the desk, “I
want
to know why they carry Merkadian weapons.
Are they allied with them? Is there anything in those pages that would hint at
a higher level of weaponry than previously thought?”

“No, nothing
of that sort, and I don’t have an answer for the question of allegiance right
now, but if the Merkadians are handing out weapons to the other tribes, we are
in a lot of trouble.” Saris had a concerned look on his face, then switched his
gaze, hinting at a shift in thought. “Have they still been repeating the same
sentences?”

“Yes. Gleb has
been trying to get them to communicate further, but to no avail.”

Saris moved to
a nearby window and looked out through the smoke, as hundreds of campfires lit
up the burnt city. “Well, if they don’t do something soon, Thandril will be
here with my army, and we will crush them from behind.” He started calculating
how many men there must be. “Has to be at least four thousand men down there.
We only have a hundred or so soldiers, and maybe another two hundred untrained
men and boys.”

Captain Arteus
knocked over the game piece with his own. “Ha! You’re finished!”

The campsite’s
central fire hissed and crackled behind the two men, making sounds that
complemented the angered stare from Captain Barolas. “I think you are
cheating…that’s four in a row now.”

Arteus moved
the pieces back into their starting positions. He reached into his pocket and
dropped six coins onto the table. “Care to make this a little more
interesting?” He raised one brow, taunting his long-time comrade.

Barolas
grinned. His grimy teeth looking, even more, disgusting in the firelight.
“Fine, but this time…” He rotated the game board. “I’m going to use your
pieces.”

Arteus laughed
and slapped his legs. “Whatever makes you happy to lose your money!”

“So…” Barolas
blindly reached for his ale, precariously resting on a nearby log, “should we
grumble about those bastards, Saris and Thandril, and all of their wondrous
accommodations?” His hand found the teetering stein, and he pulled the drink to
his lips for a drawn-out gulp. “Lucky sons of a bitches.” With the last drop of
liquid dripping from his chin, the Captain tossed the empty vessel over his
shoulder. “What I wouldn’t give for…”

Barolas’ words
were cut short by a blood-curdling shriek, reminiscent of a young animal being
slaughtered.

Both Captains jumped
to attention.

Barolas
gripped the axe across his back. “What
was
that?”

A thick fog
belched forth from the earth, causing the entire camp to scramble to their
feet, scattering away from the expanding cloud. The starry sky seemed to dim
even further, pinching the light of the center fire.

“There!” A
nearby soldier shouted, pointing into the sky.

Arteus’ looked
up. His mouth dropped open. “By all the gods I dare not worship…”

A lone figure
hovered in the sky, wrapped in a floor-length, black robe and hood. Wind
twisted and cut at his image, sloshing his outfit in the moonlight. The screech
raised in volume again, echoing through the campground. Men covered their ears,
desperate to stem the repulsive sound.

“Now that I
have your attention.” The words boomed in a deep guttural tone. The man
fell from the sky, crashing into the center of
the fire.

The action
sent a ripple of movement through the Talurian forces, clearing a perimeter
around the alien being.

Barolos
glanced to Arteus. “Any ideas?”

Arteus bounced
on the balls of his feet, gripping the handle of his blade. “Not one. This is
well outside of my department.”

The intruder
rose to his feet. Fire engulfing him. A chilling calm from a brazen scene.

Breaking the
nightmarish pause, he moved from the fire. His hood fell away. A featureless
face stared back at them. Deep crimson eyes pierced the surrounding darkness,
dripping like wet blood over his shadowed clothing.

Arteus stood
frozen.

Barolas jolted
forward, pulling the axe from his back, and released a rallying cry to pull his
men with him. He jumped into the air, preparing to bring his weapon down upon
the man’s head.

With a simple
wave of his hand, the intruder turned attacker threw Barolas twenty feet
through the air.

The following
soldiers fell in around the enemy, slashing and stabbing, but he moved inhumanly
fast, dodging every strike. With a sudden switch in his stance, he shot his hand
into the air, and bright strands of red light formed around him. Swords and
spears bounced off the shimmering barrier.

“Cease your useless
endeavor!” The assailant shouted out over the crowd. The voice so dark and
unnerving, so ominous, that the men reeled from its sound. “South. You must go
south. Your leader needs you.”

Barolas had
regained his composure. “You think this gains our trust?” The words flew back
with vehemence. His face twisted in anger. He assaulted the barrier with wild
flails of his axe, stirring more soldiers to again attack the black-robed man.

Arteus watched
in horror, as one of the mightiest Talurian warriors couldn’t break through the
strange, magical defense.

“Gah!” The man
cocked his head to the side, “Fine! I will
make
you run to your
General…” He shattered his own barrier and spread open his robe, brandishing
two polished, curved blades. “…in fear.”

Like a
whirlwind, he moved through the Talurian forces taking men apart limb by limb.
His robes leaving faint afterimages of his fluttering movements. A haze of
death blinked about the area, dropping mangled, dismembered corpses to the
ground.

Captain
Barolas swung his axe through the air, trying to make any contact. His brow
creased. His breathing intensified. Each strike moments too late, slashing
through the image of what was there a second past. “How are we to ever—”

A sudden cold
numbness shot through Barolas. The world stilled. He dropped his head to find
both blades protruding from his chest. His axe fell from his hands. “No.” He
shook his head.

“Why, yes.”
The darkened voice teased his ears. “You thought there could be any other
ending to this?” The man laughed. “Although, do not worry. I still have a use
for you, but not like this.” The words ushered a final strike. The ethereal
blades pulled from his back, ripped through the air, and cleaved his head from
his shoulders.