A Viral Imperium: The Plagueborn Series Book 1

by Darren Joy

  The last thudded past.

  It still didn’t feel safe, and he remained concealed. A strange magic, but he had to admit he was starting to like it. His talent was more extensive than he could’ve dreamed. Scatter’s explanations filled in many gaps, but he knew he had much to learn. How, without a teacher?

  It made him think of the Aidari. Scatter and Lorn had both alluded to ancient tomes, which they’d studied, perhaps relearning lost magic. Living, breathing magi and they served Threadfin Todder, or at least they had. They had proved their loyalty when they’d tried to protect him, and he had killed them. Scatter had warned him of the cost for his power, but like a fool, he thought he knew better. Had he a living heart, it would’ve broken. As it was, a pain not born of anything physical filled his core.

  An errant breeze chilled his bones, and he flinched. He didn’t feel cold, which meant this wasn’t natural. Remaining as a stone, he blanked his mind as the shadowy form stepped past. This was no giant. It stood at six feet, no more. Muted flames, glowing a faint blue, smothered it, adding height. He could see the shape of a man within. Pen Luthus was on the hunt.

  The chimera’s gaze cast left and right. It paused and sniffed, holding its position for a moment before moving on. When it had left, Threadfin released the shadows, but remained crouched. A lone wisp clung to his hands and wrists. His flesh absorbed the darkness, like a sponge in black water. His skin became translucent before returning to normal.

  It took some time before he stood, and resumed the trek to Byrsa.

  CANAAN RAN, HEEDLESS of slippery earth or jutting rock. His studded boots gave him purchase, but he resented the effort. His body needed time after the last change, and it wasn’t recovered from the viral’s attack. Still, he touched his angelic core, flames licking his skin and heightening his senses.

  Human bodies had such limitations. At first, he had thought it would be easy. This prey was no soldier, raised in a palace surrounded by luxury, not to mention being nothing but a pile of rotting skin and bones. He’d been closing fast too, even in human form. The scouts Gog had sent him, lumbered ahead, but they hunted blind. Todralan hadn’t been alone. Those accursed Aidari made his life difficult. At least, few of them now remained alive, but the viral’s power was lethal.

  Rain hammered the earth. Iron-grey clouds threatened the gibbous moon. It was night, and the terrain treacherous. The rain did lessen and the wind dropped, but he had to slow. He had lost his prey.

  He spotted Altus off to the right, leading several others towards the eaves of more woodland. It was impossible to find the undead bastard in the dark. Damn Berg, Altus, and the lot of them to the black fires of Oblivion. Thraels were of limited use, but that fool Avitus had insisted on dozens. She had underestimated the readiness, the pure deadliness of their quarry. He also suspected the late arrival of Altus was more than it seemed. Did she think him a fool?

  The bulk of this horde was Rephaim, though they had several minor factions in tow. Ironically nicknamed the Dead Ones, they had a vicious reputation, but this Plagueborn had shown what he could do. Dozens of giants had died back there. Canaan began to doubt if Gog could handle him.

  Neither did Liviana have full control over the beasts, as she had promised. Her plan had unravelled from the beginning. He should never have trusted her. Through the Nephilim, she claimed she would lay waste to this world, but what good was that? He knew the Nephilim commander was not far off. Canaan had interacted with several scouting parties and had sent runners back and forth. Her plan would fail and they would be furious. The only way out he saw, was to capture Threadfin and hand him over as promised ... and Liviana along with him.

  It might prove enough.

  The city of Byrsa lay close. Pen Luthus had given orders for the others to await him there. If Todralan held to his course, he would reach that city eventually. The trap was set. He was alone now, and he would be tiring. He would try to blend in, to disappear into the heart of Byrsa ... where Canaan’s thraels waited.

  Chapter 26

  Revealed to the Enemy

  JOLTED AWAKE, THE princess appeared disorientated. She looked up to find Cathya watching. The Darken sat in the wagon beside her, one they’d procured in an abandoned village, miles from the river. Blankets covered Yana’s waist and knees.

  Cathya was concerned for her, the woman’s complexion pale as she’d slept. She had to be careful with the dosage. No doubt, Yana had suffered those dreams again. She could protect her from most threats, but not those. It irked her, like an itch she couldn’t reach. Protecting this woman was her duty. She lived and breathed her role, even taking to Aiyana’s bed, though falling in love had more to do with that. An unexpected and pleasant twist, and she trusted no man to enter Yana’s life.

  Seated at the front was Turol, holding the reins. The grolg’s hairy rump rose and fell as it hauled them at a plodding pace. She wished she could find for them a nice quiet, forgotten corner of the world. Wishes were for fools.

  Yana struggled to sit up, but Cathya laid a hand against her breast. ‘You need to rest. You’ve had a gruelling few days.’

  ‘I hate you.’

  Cathya laughed. ‘Do you know how much you’ve told me that over the years?’ Just the imperator had known Cathya’s identity as Darken, and she’d used that direct channel to report on her more than once. Sometimes Sarscha had taken the blame, but not always. She’d done it to protect Yana from herself. The princess was the most headstrong woman she knew, and the bravest.

  Aiyana lay back down. Her words were slurred, her eyes a little glazed. ‘I haven’t changed my mind, you know. I’ll get back one way or another, if it takes me months.’

  Cathya chuckled. She felt a little easier now they were further from danger, five leagues west of Byrsa. She knew what lay waiting back in Icarthya. She knew who Liviana Avitus was, what she was. Aiyana would have died if she’d remained, and that was without bringing Gog into it. Cathya would’ve died protecting her, and in that, she was willing. She had no illusions about defeating Liviana. Cathya Shivar was no match for a harpy, and the First of the Fallen at that. ‘You must learn to trust me, as you used to.’

  ‘You’re not making it easy. Besides, you’ve been lying to me. What are you not telling me?’

  The captain lashed the broad buttocks in front of him, as the wagon lurched uphill. The beast snorted, billowing white puffs from its leathery nostrils. Cathya wrapped the other woman’s cloak tighter, tucking her in and smiled at the scowl she received. She wanted to tell her everything, and opened her mouth to speak the words. Nothing came out.

  ‘Am I your prisoner now?’

  ‘You’ve been asleep all day.’ Cathya gave a stiff laugh. ‘I don’t want you falling off, that’s all.’

  ‘You mean running off.’

  ‘This isn’t just for your own good, but also for the people you love. If you die, all their hope dies with you.’

  ‘And you must understand that I am not a child to be coddled and wrapped in blankets.’ She tugged at them, loosening them enough to toss them aside and sit up. She placed her hand to her forehead, appearing dizzy. ‘I am the princess. I will be your imperatrix, the Spectrum willing.’

  ‘What if the Spectrum isn’t?’

  ‘For once, you must stop making my decisions for me. Whatever will happen, I must return to my city and my people. You’ve gone too far this time. I thought I could forgive you. Grim-damn you, I’d already forgiven you.’

  ‘The imperium is large,’ said Turol over his shoulder. ‘Your people populate it for hundreds of leagues in all directions. What about them? You don’t need to be in the capital to be with your people.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she conceded, ‘but the capital is the heart and Liviana is ripping it out. Once the capital falls, the rest follows. I must face that woman and stop her.’

  ‘You’re not a fighter,’ said Turol, whipping at the grolg, ‘that much I can verify.’

  ‘No, but I’m a leader.’

&nbs
p; ‘True, but you cannot ignore that Liviana has an army at her command, and is a formidable opponent. You do not understand what is happening.’

  ‘The imperial marshal is leading her legions home,’ Yana snapped, ‘and she’s my marshal, making them my legions. Therefore, Liviana isn’t the only one with an army, and I should be at its head. How can I allow others to fight for me, and then just arrive after the fact?’ That Aiyana hated her sister was a point Cathya knew better than to point out.

  ‘Yana,’ she began, deciding it was time to tell her at last. She’d waited this long to protect her, but if she knew the truth, she might listen to reason. ‘There’s something about me you don’t know, about everything that’s happening—’

  A wind stirred around them. Cathya felt the hairs on her body stand on end as though lightning fingered the air. There was no other sign of a storm. A gust buffeted the wagon.

  ‘We’re not alone,’ noted Turol as he whipped at the grolg with the reins. The beast grumbled as it increased its pace. They crested a hill, and the wind became a gale.

  The captain brought the wagon to a halt and drew his sword, jumping to the ground.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ shouted Yana over the rising wind as she got to her feet, shakily.

  Cathya grabbed hold of Yana and shoved her. The woman toppled over the edge, just in time.

  ‘Get out of the wagon,’ cried Turol, as he frantically scanned for their enemy. ‘Cathya, get out!’

  CATHYA OPENED HER EYES to a distant whirring. It was irritating, persistent. She felt as though her body floated.

  Until she collided with hard ground.

  Slowly, she rolled on to her side. Her throat burned and each breath was agony. She was on the deck of a boat, or a ship, wood beneath her hands. No, she’d been on a wagon, with others.

  ‘Yana,’ she croaked.

  Nausea swept through her. She moved her head, and the feeling worsened. Spasms first, and then pain sliced through her shoulders. The birthing protrusions grew a few inches, ripping her clothing. She couldn’t see them, but felt them as something stabbed her from the inside. She felt them enlarging, moving. Blood dripped on to the shattered wood. From puberty, she’d known her true self, and that a force resided within her. Though she’d continued to live her life as a human, it was always there beneath the surface.

  ‘Get up!’

  She ignored the voice. Her limbs were weak, her body desiring unconsciousness.

  ‘Now would be a good time ... if you’re not too ... busy.’ The words sounded bitten off, as though the person saying them was under exertion.

  She pushed herself to her knees. The pain in her shoulders worsened. Her body went into spasm again, and she screamed. I’m being reborn, she thought. So much for remaining hidden, but perhaps the time to reveal themselves had arrived.

  The protrusions forced their way through muscle, skin, and fabric. Her tunic and cloak hung from her like strips of old skin. Her spine cracked and both shoulders were dislocated.

  ‘Cathya,’ called a strained voice. ‘You must fight through it.’

  The wings emerged, slippery as freshwater eels. They unfurled as she knelt on one knee. Her vision was returning. She saw splintered wood, studded with iron nails. The wagon was in pieces, but part of the wagon bed was intact. About her were spatters of blood in a splayed pattern.

  The wings flapped, her blood clotting between raven feathers. She felt the wounds close and balance return, as blood rushed to her head and limbs. She felt anger and love, hate and empathy, all in impossible cohesion. Both human and angelic emotions roiled and combined in a heady fusion.

  She stood, head clearing, vision fresh. Turol battled seven opponents among the remains of the wagon with a dozen bodies littering the earth. Many lay in the direction of the treeline behind her. The grolg was dead and there was no sign of Yana. For once, she was glad the woman had run.

  Turol’s wings held her transfixed as he slashed with them, and blocked blows as if feathers were iron. His movements graceful, his assailants struggled to pin the Angelborn down. Two of them ducked past. They were trying to reach the treeline, to go after Yana.

  Cathya examined her own wings as they fanned outward. They felt exhilarating. She stood in their path. Let them try.

  A blade of fire sliced at her. She ducked. Part of her face rose towards flaming steel, stretched outward as though dragged out of time. The attacker ripped at her with the weapon a second time. Her left wing rose and blocked the blow. He fell back.

  ‘That’s it,’ shouted Turol. ‘These bastards won’t hold against two of us.’

  Fury rose within her, and with it came a wind that buffeted them as they fought. A thunderous hail turned the hard earth to mud and as her wrath turned ferocious, so did the storm.

  Her opponent couldn’t match her. Her anger curdled the air around her forming a funnel. Focused, she felt terrible and wonderful. She grabbed the thrael. The pulsing beat of her wings quickened, as she rose into the air to savage him within the heart of a tornado. Once the winds slackened enough, she let the limp body drop to the earth. The thraels used shards, which gave them magical powers for a brief time, but they were all too human.

  Another approached, a woman. This one cupped her hands close to her breast, which had a soul shard embedded in it. It was the most powerful and fatal use of a shard. When her hands parted, a billowing fire exploded towards Cathya. Screeches announced the voracious cloud of flame as it struck her. The ethereal birds within were wreathed in orange tongues. They clawed and pecked at her face and torso. Landing, she sheltered beneath her wings. They enfolded her body until the assault passed. When it was over, tendrils of smoke rose from her wings and body, patches of her skin red and blistering.

  The budding storm reached a peak, Turol no doubt adding his own rage. Leaves and branches whirled within the maelstrom.

  ‘My turn, now,’ she whispered, and then launched herself at the female thrael. Blood spattered her face, blurring her vision. Whether it was hers or the woman’s, she didn’t know or care.

  She rose into the air to spot any sign of Yana. It seemed she had gotten it wrong after all. No, she couldn’t hide the princess from her enemies. She would follow her instead and keep her alive for as long as possible. After all, it was all she had ever wanted.

  Her wings folded, and she fell to earth with bone shattering force. With her rage dissipating, weakness flooded her. The storm died. It was the first time she’d ever used her angelic powers, and it drained her human form. It would take time to adjust.

  She searched among the wreckage of the wagon and the dead, making certain, but there was no sign.

  ‘She’s gone,’ said Turol as she approached the captain who lay a few feet away. ‘I saw her run off towards the trees. They never reckoned on me, hah!’ He spat up some blood.

  ‘Then we must go after her.’

  Her companion lay sprawled on his side. His left leg was missing below the knee, leaving a bloodied stump, and his torso was a riven mess. She examined him, and then shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’ She stood and turned. ‘I have to go. I have to find her.’

  ‘We are revealed to the enemy. There is no more need for running and hiding. You can stand by her side and protect her. Let her do what she must.’

  This was an old argument she’d had with both Turol and Saelos over the years. The fourth, their commander, had kept silent on the issue. She stopped and turned. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Go after her, but do not ... try and stop her. Let her do ... what she has to.’ He gestured weakly at the carnage about them. ‘Look at this. You were wrong. Look at what it ... has bought us.’

  She stared into the tree line and the gloom within. No longer could she hide the truth from herself. She’d let personal feelings cloud her judgment. She had convinced the others that her actions were for the greater good. They had been nothing but selfish. The dangers Aiyana faced were great, but it wasn’t Cathya’s place to deny her right to face them.<
br />
  Her shoulders sagged. ‘How do I retract these Spectrum-forsaken things? I can’t go about like this, revealed or not.’

  Turol gave a gruff laugh, spitting more blood. ‘It gets easier.’

  ‘You’ve done this before, I take it.’

  He nodded.

  She bit her lip, concentrating on the wings, on their shape and size. She willed them to retract, but nothing happened. Then she relaxed and just ... let go. Electrical spasms as though miniature lightning bolts lanced through her. ‘Grim’s own blood,’ she swore. It wasn’t as bad as when they’d emerged at least.

  She listened to the drip of her blood, but didn’t care. A war, hundreds of millennia old, waged across the Spectrum, but here on this world was the new front line.

  She glanced at the bodies of the thraels. They appeared ordinary. Several were dressed in plain woollens. Liviana would never have sent such a pathetic force if she’d known Angelborn guarded the princess, unless ... she didn’t intend on killing her. Oh, Spectrum above, the woman wanted her to escape. She wants Yana to come to her.

  Turol was staring up at her, without blinking. His chest didn’t rise and fall. They had been four to begin with. Now, they were two, but he had other concerns. No, this task was hers alone. She needed to survive long enough to see it through.

  She didn’t bury the dead, though her heart ached to leave Turol’s body there. There was no time. At least his angelic soul would survive. They would meet again, one day, for the war was not over.