Fallen Empire

by Keith McArdle

  “Captain Beel, you and your soldiers will remain at the palace with the majority of the unit. Make sure your men and horses are rested.”

  Tork pointed to four warriors one after the other. “Captains Terax, Dask, Thrun, and Gat, you four will move to the front this evening and hold the western wall.” He deliberately chose the four most experienced and accomplished officers. “If you fear becoming overrun, call for reinforcements. As for the rest of us, tonight, we will all stand on duty at the palace in support of our brothers. Ensure your soldiers and horses are fed, rested, and ready to fight.” Tork took a breath and clenched his fists as the numbness spread through his fingers. “Each night, the assault upon the western wall becomes worse. If it continues, I envisage our entire unit will soon be deployed. If these…things manage to somehow breach the gate itself…” he clenched his jaw, “we will need all soldiers ready to fight. You four, have your men deployed no later than sundown. The rest of you, be deployed and ready at the palace at dusk. Questions?”

  Silence reigned supreme, and once again that faint feeling of excitement and purpose crackled around the room.

  Tork grinned. “Then let’s get to it!”

  * * *

  Tork stepped clear of the bath. He took the neatly folded towel laid upon a ledge nearby and shook it loose before drying himself.

  That’s better, I feel bloody human again!

  Dressing into the soft, cloth garb he wore under his armour, he opened the door and walked into the outer section of the bathroom, where a servant girl waited.

  “Thank you, Fraya. The water was the perfect temperature, as always.”

  “Welcome, lord.” She curtsied and moved past him to empty the dirty water.

  Padding through the next doorway, he walked into the massive living room of his home and grunted as a small force thundered into him.

  “Papa!”

  He pushed a hand through his daughter’s dark curls. He knelt and held her at arm’s length.

  “Teeka, have you finished your school reading for the day?”

  She giggled and tried to squirm clear, but he held her firm. “Yes, Papa,” she said finally.

  “Tell me something. What did you learn?”

  Teeka’s eyes widened, and she looked up at the ceiling. She opened her mouth but remained silent for a moment. “Well…” she looked back at her father, “do you know the story about the demon and the egg?”

  “No, my child.” He stood, took her hand, and led her towards a bench seat padded with soft fur. “Enlighten me.”

  He sat and listened as Teeka recounted the story. It was an ancient tale he’d heard many times, but he’d never heard his daughter tell it. He listened to every word, although he was forced to hold back laughter when she’d obviously forgotten a section and began making it up as she went. Before he knew it, the demon, a fierce evil entity called Agogathoth in the original tale, became a tiny little cute thing called Thog dressed in girl’s clothes, playing with an egg.

  “A wonderful tale, my daughter.” He grinned and hugged her.

  “Dinner’s being served early this evening because papa has to work. So, go and wash your hands.”

  Tork released his daughter and stood, noticing his wife, Yeshira, leaning against a doorway, smiling at them.

  “You have to go to work tonight, as well, Papa?”

  “I’m afraid so, little one.”

  Yeshira gestured towards their daughter. “Come, Teeka, hurry along!”

  The girl darted away, swept past her mother’s skirts, and disappeared from sight.

  Yeshira was just as beautiful as she was the day Tork laid eyes upon her. Thick, dark curls framed her face and touched her shoulders. Deep green eyes held his gaze as he approached. She did not resist when he pulled her into his embrace and held her close, enjoying the smell of apricots her hair emitted.

  “Be safe out there tonight, husband.”

  He stroked her back. “Always, my love.”

  “Teeka must not know what is happening, Tork.” She pulled away and looked up at him.

  “Of course not, my love.”

  She smiled then, cupped his cheeks, and kissed him.

  I haven’t been entirely truthful. Even you don’t know what’s really going on out there, love.

  * * *

  Tork stood on the upper plateau of the royal palace situated in the centre of Lisfort, staring out at the waning light. Even in the gloom, the silhouette of the mighty western wall towered above the city. Captains Terax, Dask, Thrun and Gat alongside the soldiers under their command were deployed along the wall and prepared to defend their positions. If they requested reinforcement, it was possible the entire force of The Unit would advance to battle this evening.

  The tiny sliver of what was left of the sun vanished behind a distant mountain range, and with it, the last natural light. Tork stepped forward and looked down at the acres of open space in front of the western side of the palace. Acres of land currently filled with the neat ranks of fifteen hundred King’s Own troops. Along the edges of the open land were positioned torches in even spaces. He watched one of the mounted soldiers trotting from one torch to the next, igniting them as he went.

  In stark comparison, upon the acres of open space to the north and south of the palace were spread rows upon rows of hastily erected tents, occupied by families who lived along and near the western wall. They’d obeyed the direction to evacuate more than a day before.

  “It is done, we are at fifty percent stand-to. It is going to be a long night, I think, sir.”

  The voice snapped him from his thoughts. He didn’t even hear Captain Beel approach. He glanced at the warrior standing beside him.

  “Very well, Captain. And yes, another long night.”

  He returned his attention to his force arrayed upon the ground beneath him and watched half of the soldiers dismount and feed and water their horses prior to folding out bedrolls and lying down. Try as they might, Tork was confident many of them would not find slumber. In several hours, those resting would mount back up to allow the others to dismount and attempt sleep. Thus, they would rotate between standing duty or resting throughout the hours of darkness.

  The soldier charged with the duty of igniting the torches finally trotted to his starting point and placed the torch, which he used to ignite the others, back in its bracket staked deep into the earth.

  “Did you get some sleep today, Captain Beel?”

  “Yes sir, plenty, thanks.”

  He looks rested. Good.

  “Yourself, sir?”

  “Yes, I did.” The lie came easily enough.

  “Good to hear. I’m going to check on my soldiers, sir.”

  “Aye, Captain, you do that, I’ll be down shortly.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out gently, looking out across the silent, sleeping city. The booming voices of the merchants were silent and the marketplace in the near distance stood desolate. The hustle and bustle would recommence come the dawn.

  If we win the night.

  He clenched his fists, stretched his fingers, shook out his hands, but the tingling would not leave him.

  Of course, we’ll win the night. To let such thoughts gain traction is stupidity at its best.

  Tork turned and commenced his descent of the innumerable steps towards the open field upon which his soldiers were stationed. Some horses lay beside their masters in an attempt to rest.

  A bugle blasted from the area of the western wall, near the gate, or at least that was where Tork thought the sound had issued in the few seconds he’d taken to analyse the faint reverberation. He froze and listened. A rolling crackle of musket fire burst to life, interrupted only by the deep, bass boom of blunderbuss. The gunfire increased in intensity until the musket and blunderbuss shots were an incessant barrage of noise.

  Gods, it’s worse than last night.

  Further bugle blasts cut through the storm of noise. He listen
ed to each bugle and their rough location, his mind painting for him a bird’s eye picture of the battle scene.

  One is commanding his force into Swine Array at full charge, another two are conducting fighting withdrawals under musket shot. The fourth force?

  He listened intently, but the fourth bugle remained silent.

  Must still be uncommitted.

  The night was only young, and for three quarters of his deployed force to be already involved in such intense fighting did not bode well. He’d expected a few minor skirmishes to commence later in the evening, which might build to a larger, more protracted battle. But this? The fighting had been ferocious from the very beginning.

  They have a real chance of being overrun.

  It was possible the thousands of rooftops and empty streets between the western wall and the palace might have increased the echoes or channelled certain sounds and made the fight sound more intense than it was in reality. He started his descent again.

  I doubt it.

  Another bugle, the missing fourth, sliced through the wall of sound, but sounding much more distant than the others. He stopped and turned towards the sound.

  They must be farther down the wall, close to where we were last night.

  The bugle fell silent.

  Arrowhead, full charge, right flank engage with blunderbuss.

  As if on cue, the mighty boom of the blunderbuss rolled out over Lisfort.

  They’re fighting an enemy in front of them and on their right flank. Gods, help us.

  He jogged down the stairs, and strode towards his soldiers. The few of them who’d taken the time to try and rest were on their feet, packing away bedrolls and rechecking their weapons.

  Tork felt a presence beside him and didn’t need to turn to know it was his bugler, Roland.

  “Advance to battle, sir?”

  “Not yet, Roland, no. Hold that thought, though.”

  He continued until he was standing in the centre of the formation of King’s Own warriors.

  “All captains to me! Now!”

  * * *

  Vyder lay with his back to the fire, the warmth soaking through his clothes and caressing his skin. He’d no idea how long he’d been asleep, but it must have been several hours if the moon, now high in the night sky, was anything by which to gauge. He rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and sank into the depths again. Endessa whispered softly nearby and chuckled.

  She must be dreaming.

  The whispering came again, louder this time. Vyder sat up, pushed away the thin blanket and looked for the Wiccan. He found her sitting on the far side of the fire, looking into the flames. A chill of fear spread spindly fingers across his soul as he focused on the area at which the Wiccan stared.

  Within the flames was the face of another, not a man, not even a human. Vyder pushed himself to his feet in an explosion of movement and backed away into the darkness. The fire entity had a human-shaped head, but he could see the flaming horns that erupted from the temples.

  “Fear not, Vyder. This is Agoth,” Endessa gestured at the fire.

  The head turned and red, glowing eyes locked onto the assassin. Tusks pushed out each side of Agoth’s mouth, and when the thing spoke, flames flickered from within the fang-filled maw, but no voice was audible.

  Vyder Ironstone. Your reputation precedes you. The deep, resonant voice filled his mind.

  “I’ve heard your name, or something like it. Are you the same demon recounted in children’s tales?”

  Agoth laughed. I am no demon, Vyder. I am a fire spirit. I was born in the fire, and when the Great Spirit sees fit to end my time here on earth, it will be to the flames I shall return.

  “And do you hate we humans as much as Gorgoroth?”

  The fire enshrouded spirit smiled. I have no hatred of humans, assassin. I do not control all fire at any one given time, but I have watched some of your ancestors squatting in caves, rubbing wood together in the hope of summoning me. I obliged them, too. I’ve been known to save the lives of many of your people over the generations. The fire entity laughed. Aye, and killed a few.

  Vyder nodded. “Have you seen Gorgoroth?”

  Agoth cast a glance towards Endessa. We were just discussing this. I have not, but I can feel his presence. He is close but has cloaked himself.

  The assassin frowned. With the initial shock departing his system, he walked around the fire to sit beside the Wiccan.

  She patted him on the arm. “Nothing to worry about, boy. Agoth is a friend.”

  “Powerful friend to have.”

  Endessa chuckled. “Indeed.”

  “Why is he cloaking himself? I don’t understand.”

  Agoth appraised him for a moment. Lisfort is under assault from the west, more specifically from the Waning Wood. We think he is controlling the assault against the city. As you mentioned before, Gorgoroth has no love of humankind, and now that he is at his most powerful, it would be a prime opportunity to wipe one of the largest cities, being so close to the Waning Wood, from the face of the earth.

  “We must go back! What about Miriam?”

  Endessa smiled into the flames. “I told you he was a good, lad.”

  “We must return! We can’t just sit around here while people are dying. What if the city falls?”

  “And you think you can make a difference, Vyder? What’s one man going to do?”

  “If the city falls, then my mission is for nothing! Bringing a prince back to a smoking ruin is kind of pointless, is it not?”

  Then the man in your presence would no longer be a prince. But a king. And someone upon whom a new empire can be built.

  Endessa threw a small log onto the fire. “But it won’t come to that. The king’s household soldiers are dealing with the onslaught well.”

  And although I cannot see Gorgoroth, I can sense his power waning. It won’t be long before he must return to you, Vyder, and reenergise his strength. Although it is still possible he may mount one final all-out assault that may overrun Lisfort.

  Endessa placed a hand upon his forearm. “So, continue we must, Vyder. There is no other way. Lisfort is well defended, and King George can call upon some of the finest soldiers in the world.”

  In addition, young man, the further we travel from Lisfort, the stronger the pull you have on Gorgoroth. Eventually, he will have no choice but to return to you. Never forget that you are both bound together.

  “So why then does he not draw me back to him? Surely if I can do it, he can too?”

  Although he is a spirit of immeasurable strength, it is your body and, as such, you have more power than he. Wherever you go, so must Gorgoroth.

  Vyder nodded. “Then we depart at first light.”

  * * *

  Tork closed the door behind him, exhaustion burrowing into his soul.

  “Good morning, Lord Tork.”

  He turned to see Brent offering him a deep bow of respect.

  “Morning, Brent. It seems I am late to the meeting once again. This is beginning to become a habit.”

  He strode towards the war room, acknowledging with a nod the pair of King’s Own soldiers stood either side of the doors as they thumped to attention in unison.

  “Morning, sir.”

  “Lads.”

  Emotion was devoid from the faces of both soldiers, but their eyes hid nothing. The unit had taken a hard loss during the night. Many warriors had crossed the Frost River.

  Tork placed his hand on the door and paused, looking from one soldier to the other. “Chin up, warriors. Today, we remember our brothers, and tonight, we fight. I don’t care what the king decrees. Tonight, we fight. All of us. And we’ll send those things back to Hell where they fucking belong.”

  Glistening eyes narrowed and hawk-like focus returned.

  Better.

  He stepped forward, barged through the door, and squinted against the dull light, waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the gloo
m. Eventually, the table came into view. Seated at the head, as always, was Jad. A little further down the table was Blake, his hooded eyes watching him like a snake.

  Two-faced slime-riddled piece of shit.

  “So nice of you to join us, Tork, but it seems Mace has outdone you. If he’s not here shortly, we’ll commence without him.”

  Tork sat at Jad’s right hand and cleared his throat. “Mace won’t be coming, sire.”

  “What, is the man sick?”

  He lay his hands upon the table and looked at the king’s advisor, holding his piercing glare. “No, sire. He fell in battle last night, along with what was left of the Watch protecting the western wall.”

  “He fell, you say?”

  “Aye, sire.”

  “You mean to tell me that an entire quarter of the Watch tasked with patrolling our city streets have been killed at the western wall?”

  “It pleases me not at all, sire, but yes.”

  “Mace was a good man,” Jad whispered.

  “He was, sire.”

  Tork cast a glance at Blake and controlled the sudden fury that swept through him as he noticed the smirk on the diplomat’s face.

  A scratching filled the silence as Jad wielded the quill like some tiny weapon, deft strokes painting ink upon the paper forming swift sentences. He stabbed the quill into the paper to signify the end of a sentence, closed his eyes, and sighed.

  “What the bloody hell is going on here?”

  Tork held out his hands. “Sire, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say we were at war. I don’t know with whom…or with what, but we are fighting to maintain the integrity of our city’s walls.”

  The advisor nodded, placing his head in his hands, but did not reply.

  “And, sire, we’re fighting hard. This is the most difficult fighting some of my soldiers have ever faced. We are a skilled force, we have to be through necessity. But we are tiny in number. If enough of those things climb the wall, then… Jad, the city will fall. And this…” he gestured at the yellowing paper in front of the king’s advisor, “is meaningless. The pen is only mightier than the sword when enemies aren’t knocking at the gate.”

  The advisor raised his head and met Tork’s eyes.

  “What of your losses, Commander Tork?”