A Viral Imperium: The Plagueborn Series Book 1

by Darren Joy

  One or two soldiers looked up, hopeful. Another laughed but Sarscha didn’t appear to notice. A man raised his hand, a grizzled veteran who’d fought several campaigns.

  ‘Yes, sergeant,’ said Sarscha.

  ‘We should tell ’em,’ he croaked, ‘whether we believes it ourselves or not. Won’t lie to ’em. Never ’ave done and won’t start now. Those Nephos are being driven at us, by the Grim’s own spawn if ever I saw one. Returned from scoutin’ northeast an hour ago, and I saw it and Nica here seen it too. Big as a house and covered in black fire. You too,’ he said to another, ‘haven’t you?’ Both sydarag riders nodded.

  ‘Imperial Marshal,’ said Threadfin, after a moment of silence, ignoring their stares, but checking his hood was low enough. ‘What he says is correct. We need to acknowledge what we’re fighting. It’s not just the Nephilim. There’s more going on here.’

  His sister glared at him. ‘You’re right,’ she then sighed. ‘I’ve seen other reports and all claim the same. No, no I can’t explain it.’ Crouched over the fire, she raised her palms to its warmth. ‘All I know is we’re here to defend Byrsa. We’re going to do that. We’ve plans in place to deal with ... that thing. Next time you spot that spawn of Grim, kill it.’

  No one spoke.

  ‘Kill it,’ she repeated and smiled. ‘After you do that, kill all the others. Kill the bastards. Maybe then after you’ve killed enough of them, those fat ugly brutes will tuck those useless wings between their legs, and hobble home.’

  It earned a strong bout of laughter. After she left them, their talk turned animated. A recruit demonstrated just how to kill a spawn of Grim. You put a spear right through the eye. It couldn’t survive that, right?

  Threadfin followed her outside. The sun had lowered beyond sight, behind the mountains, leaving a red-orange aura above the peaks. The rain had eased but the artillery continued. Rocks the size of huts hurtled over the city, two landing in the streets. Most missiles fell across the river on the eastern side. One almost hit the bridge, raising a fountain of water. Others crashed into buildings with a thunderous crunch of stone.

  She wheeled on him. ‘Don’t ever undermine me again. Do you understand? I don’t care what you are. I don’t want to know what that monster is out there either. You forced me into a corner back there. I had to speak the truth because of you.’

  ‘What’s wrong with the truth? Soldiers depend on what they see and understand, and fear what they don’t. They’re going to learn all about truth soon enough.’ He wondered how much Sarscha did or didn’t know.

  His sister sighed, looking weary. ‘Truth is dangerous. All the soldiers defending this city know what a Nephilim is. They know it can bleed and die, and just need reminding. Giants are tough opponents, but they’re not invincible. How’re those soldiers supposed to kill a, a spawn of Grim, or whatever it is?’

  She at least, should know the truth. ‘He’s in Liviana’s power. She’s—’

  ‘I told you,’ Sarscha snapped, ‘I don’t want to know. I lost a third of the Thirteenth and half of the Ninth. Those survivors added to the First here, come to just under eleven thousand to hold off a threat hardly dented. They destroyed the darag units I’d brought with me from Tystria. A handful left, good for scouting but naught else. The legions’ supplies never made it through. At least there are food stores here, but that’ll have to be given to the people. I’ll be lucky if I don’t face a revolt from my own soldiers. Not to mention that bitch Avitus has her private army eyeing up my soldiers like wolves looking at mice. All that is enough to be getting on with, don’t you think? Now, go away and leave me do my job.’ She turned and stalked away.

  Threadfin almost let her go. ‘I can kill him, and Liviana. Sarscha, I can end this, and save this city. I can save your soldiers.’ Well, not all of them. He wasn’t a miracle worker. What he was, remained to be seen. He didn’t feel as confident as he thought he sounded, but he didn’t think she’d want to know that. ‘Let me take command of some of your troops. We need a coordinated plan. You and I both know no one will survive if we don’t destroy him. This doesn’t have to be a last stand, Sarscha.’

  She halted, and looked back at him. ‘All we’ve ever believed has been a load of grolg shit, am I right? All those thousands of useless prayers?’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Yeah, as I always thought. Well, I think I won’t be afraid to die, since the world appears to have gone to hell anyway.’

  ‘You still hate us, after all these years. You’ve never forgiven us for what we are.’

  She marched back towards him, her face a thunderhead. ‘You know nothing about me or how I feel.’

  ‘That’s just the problem isn’t it? Look, what happened back then, I never meant to, I mean, I ...

  She shook her head, anger vanishing. ‘It ... was a long time ago. A lot’s happened since.’

  ‘Aiyana, she wanted to, you know—’

  She surprised him by placing a hand on his shoulder. It was perhaps the first time she’d ever touched him. She looked him in the eyes, something she’d also never done. ‘I don’t hate you, Threadfin, and I don’t hate my sister. I despise you for taking what was mine.’ She removed her hand and took a step back. ‘I’ve thought about you over the years. For a time, I was afraid of you. I’m not now.’ She sighed. ‘How can the undead rule over the living? How can you ever understand us? You don’t even like us, do you?’

  Threadfin decided not to answer that, his feelings on the subject muddled.

  ‘Okay, I’ll give the order. You can co-ordinate with my second, Rollic. I’ll send him to you. He ... knows how to keep his mouth shut.’ For a moment, Threadfin wondered what she meant, but then he understood. Oh, right.

  She hesitated, her face softening. ‘I don’t know if you and I will see each other again. If there is any justice at all, neither of us will survive what’s coming.’ Turning, she strode away through the ruins, and falling rocks.

  ‘Well?’ asked Podral, appearing at his side from nowhere. ‘How did it go?’

  Threadfin didn’t turn, but he felt the others there waiting, all except Davard. He was glad they were with him. ‘You know,’ he whispered, staring after his sister, ‘I really don’t have a bloody clue.’

  Chapter 37

  The Battle for Byrsa

  GIANT FEET THUNDERED over the open ground before Byrsa’s walls, wings arcing like scythes. They came from the east, from beneath the dark eaves of the forest covering the foothills. They came with the dawn.

  The Nephilim wore steel plate on their upper bodies, spiked pauldrons, vambraces and spiked helms with faceguards. Most wore knee-length leather tunics, split between groin and knee. Some wore the skulls of the vanquished as loincloths or belts. Those were the Rephaim, also known as the Dead Ones. The largest clan, these had broad featherless wings and were a mixture of pale and dark skin.

  Threadfin stood with Captain Wyn Rollic on a tall desiccated ruin, once a public bathhouse for patricians. Now, half of it was nothing more than dust and shattered white rock. Its location on a hill approaching Hlon Square was high enough to see across the river and over the walls. Only the hill that bore the Blue Palace was higher.

  Soldiers who’d noticed him were either accepting or indifferent. When faced with a horde of armoured monsters wanting murder, what did it matter if there was a viral among them? Rollic squinted towards the east, but it was far for a breather’s eyes.

  Behind the Dead Ones came the solid Emim, the warg handlers. These had the most limb protection, such as greaves and arm guards. They didn’t release their charges, but restrained them with metal leashes. The handlers would wait for the vanguard to create a breach.

  Like the Emim, the Avim were wingless but had the palest skin, almost translucent, and red or yellow hair. Their limbs were longer and distorted. Bodies lowered in a crouch, they ran on all fours, dual scarap blades strapped to their backs. They leapt ahead of their kin like a twisted mix of gigantic frog and lizard.

  Jagged metal, broken spe
ars, anything that might stop or slow the charge, the defenders had sown on the approach. Dug at random were pit traps. These held vertical and horizontal stakes, concealed beneath branches and long grass. Rows of stakes and spears protruded from a steep dike below the outer wall.

  Inside the double walls, within a small open parkland dotted with stone fountains, statues, and the odd oak, stood rectangular phalanx formations, nine rows deep, bristling with spears, some three thousand strong. Together with Rollic, Threadfin had laid out their best strategy. Defeating the giants was possible, but Gog was the unknown. If the captain had noticed Threadfin’s desiccated skin, he’d given no sign.

  Green and Bluecloaks of the Actaeon Guard stood along the battlements, and thought Threadfin, not one blood-cloaked bastard among them. Through Rollic, he’d given orders to have the exemplars watched. Dawn lit the eastern sky above the mountains, but Icarthya remained in a half light. There were sword and axe men, spearmen, javelin men, archers and slingers. Nervous eyes watched the moving wall of muscle and steel, until the newborn sunlight breached the mountainous skyline and blinded the defenders. The enemy had chosen their moment precisely.

  The brutish faces of the Nephilim roared.

  The first response was from the Paldanars. Some of them sheltered within the wooden hoarding on the outer wall. Others stood on the fifty-foot inner wall, which had less damage.

  ‘Nock arrows,’ roared their leader, his voice just about reaching Threadfin’s ears. ‘Draw ... Loose.’

  They unleashed a hissing iron-tipped hail. Other Paldanar ranks stood within the walls, looking out of place in their muslin smocks, leather armour and turbans. Their arrows hissed high over the walls.

  The Nephilim bent into the metallic rain. Iron and bronze arrowheads binged and scratched against impenetrable armour. Several found a mark where flesh was exposed.

  On they came.

  ‘Loose!’ A second volley followed by a third. The fourth had more impact, the range shortened, but it wasn’t enough. Catapults and ballistae launched their shot and bolts, but these they aimed over the inner wall and into the breaches of the outer, to strike the giants trying to fill them. The round stones bounced off the metal shrouded beasts. It was like children showering adults with pebbles. However, the ballistae bolts did have more impact, punching through steel.

  The pit traps and defensive ditches inflicted casualties. The Avim handled those the best, as they leapt over them. Archers, javelin men and slingers fired at will at the hulking shapes below. Others threw rocks and boiling oil.

  Numerous Emim and Rephaim hurled long twisted ropes with grappling hooks at the outer wall. Soldiers fought to dislodge them. Hooks lodged onto the hoarding and numerous giants heaved on the ropes. The wooden structure disintegrated, bodies tumbling.

  Following behind, were the bulk of the Emim, the warg handlers biding their time. Rephaim leapt from the outer onto the inner walls using wings for lift. The Avim jumped, powerful legs hurtling them into defenders. The first giants gained the top amid intense arrow fire, and leapt on the humans. The outer defences had failed, but then, Threadfin hadn’t expected anything else.

  Catapult shot cannoned into the battlements, indiscriminate of species. Bolt throwers proved more accurate and several giants fell to those. The lead giants leapt from the inner wall and towers to smash barricades and catapults. They swung their infamous harogs with patient ease. The heavy mace-like grond found no obstacle in bronze coated shields, nor did the long metallic flails. This last weapon was unknown to Threadfin. Defenders died in a spray of red mist. He felt Rollic tremble beside him. He wished he could’ve offered comfort, which surprised him. Once, he wouldn’t have cared. He placed a withered hand on the captain’s shoulder, but the breather didn’t notice.

  ‘Forward march,’ an officer yelled. Tight rectangular phalanx formations marched as one. ‘Halt,’ and then, ‘Brace!’

  The phalanxes held against the giants. Some spears found their mark and the enemy took casualties. The phalanxes heaved, using their shields like battering rams. As one, they shoved, raised their shields and stabbed. Their movements were quick, practiced, and precise. Between the formations, archers gathered, firing in unison. Javelin men and slingers also weaved between the phalanxes. More giants fell.

  The Nephilim charged, with armoured heads and shoulders bent.

  Formations shattered, exposing the flanks of others. Officers bellowed and the remaining phalanxes attempted to manoeuvre to meet the threat. They were too slow. Ash wood spears shattered against superior steel. Several more giants fell back with wounds, but it wasn’t enough. The formations broke, survivors retreating.

  More giants gained the walls, dislodging remaining defenders. A handful of rogue and doomed swordsmen slashed at the enemy. They tried to find gaps in armour, or to hamstring those without extensive leg armour.

  Two legion remnants had stood on that side of the river, over four thousand soldiers. Each minute reduced that number.

  ‘I don’t think that, ah, that he’s coming,’ said Rollic, his voice somewhat steady despite his trembling. He didn’t take his eyes off the battle, which was much more visible to him now. ‘We’re probably not worth the trouble.’

  ‘He’ll come.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I’m here, captain, as is my sister.’ He didn’t care if the breather understood. It was the truth. No doubt, Avitus had planned to trap them between herself and the horde, but he was going to spring the trap early, and smash it to pieces. Whether he survived or not, Gog would not reach his sister. He prayed to the Spectrum above Aiyana and her Darken could handle Avitus alone.

  The remaining cohorts on the western side rushed onto the bridge. Rollic bellowed commands from his vantage point to messengers below. Somewhere out there, Sarscha was doing the same. She’d want an organised retreat, not a rout. The fresh cohorts held, their spears prodding the giants, whose momentum slowed. The growing pile of dead hindered those behind. Still, the giants gained ground, hacking and slicing. The defenders ducked and weaved.

  On they came.

  Throughout, hail thrummed the earth in tune to rattling armour and shield. The sky turned red as the day was born in blood. The icy wind relented and hail turned to rain. Threadfin could now barely see the battle, Rollic relying on the information scouts brought him. Vast numbers of dead, combined with thickening mud of a ploughed parkland, slowed the enemy.

  Those retreating had a chance, though individual giants rampaged onwards. The handlers had released their charges. Wargs bounded through the gaps in the walls, snarling. The floundering giants and thick mud proved no obstacle to them. The ring of hair encircling their necks bristled like spikes. They chased the retreating humans who whirled about, hacking and stabbing at furless bodies. The predators shook victims between jagged teeth, like dolls, or savaged their throats.

  The enemy, however, didn’t flounder for long. Threadfin saw a lost cause in the breathers waiting on the roofs and below within abandoned buildings. He wanted to save them for Aiyana, almost as much as he wanted to save her. Only now, he also wanted to save them because they didn’t deserve this.

  All thought evaporated when he saw the largest Nephilim to soil the earth, the spawn of Og of Bashan. Gog of Magog, approached the damaged city walls.

  ONCE ACROSS THE BRIDGE, Aiyana and the others had spent the remaining hours of the night making their way through the streets of the Mammon. Her Darken was close behind with the fat conclavist and Desool bringing up the rear. Exemplar patrols appeared at times, forcing them to hide or find another route. It seemed the Redcloaks did not intend to protect the city and were likely sabotaging its defence.

  Dawn had broken as they had climbed the hills to the edge of the Hallow, the palace curtain wall and towers looming overhead. Clutching the dagger belted to her waist, Aiyana felt a force throbbing through the hilt. The splice was a living weapon she could hardly believe existed. Would it be enough? Liviana was a harpy, and mor
e dangerous than any Angelborn. According to her Darken, killing her with an ordinary blade wouldn’t do. Aiyana needed to separate the mortal woman from the spirit within, and from the Stone.

  It was difficult for Aiyana to accept her Darken was Angelborn, especially with that mouth of hers. And here I thought I had secrets. At times, when they’d paused for a rest, she’d found herself looking askance at the woman.

  The sun retreated within the clouds as a steady hail stung her face. A concussion reached her feet. Paving stones lifted and cracked. She tottered. It was like a quake, but she knew it was no natural phenomenon. Gog had arrived, the battle below less than an hour old. She knew her little brother was down there. No, he wasn’t little anymore, and he was far more powerful than she. Everything was changing, and she didn’t know if she could keep up. You’ll just have to, you fool, she thought.

  The odd soldier appeared, bloodied and half dead, or civilians fleeing for the safety of the palace. The exemplar patrols had ceased, and their absence was ominous. Liviana had gathered in her forces. At one point, Aiyana halted in a doorway. The others hid among a jumble of stones and wood. A warg pounced on another group, savaging a soldier, and then bounded after the survivors.

  Hearing footfalls, she turned and gave Cathya a grin. ‘Having trouble keeping up, my love?’

  ‘You go rushing in, and you’ll die. We go when I say. No running off on your own. I mean it, Yana.’

  ‘Oh, the Grim piss on it, if you must have it your way.’ What mattered was stopping Liviana. Sometimes it seemed her Darken thought her charge couldn’t brush her hair without help. The fact she had helped with that was beside the point.

  ‘Even I would struggle in a contest with her,’ admitted Cathya. ‘Since you’re committed, we must take her together. The entire palatium will be a trap.’