Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1)

by Pasquariello, Jonathan

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.

  Chapter 9: Trouble

  Rurik ordered his soldiers to form into groups of two and three and help strengthen the patrol of the city watchmen. He took Klaric and a young private named Galro to check out what happened to this murdered guard, Fenton.

  "Why'd you take me?" Klaric asked. "I thought you were mad at me?”

  "You're here because, if something happens, I know I can count on you. But don't even think of trying to talk about what happened. I'm not ready for that."

  “You act like you’re angry with me! Do you think what happened was my fault? He was like a brother to me, and you blaming his death on me is utterly unfair!”

  Rurik swung around to face Klaric. “Don’t talk about him being a brother to you! If I had been there with him, I would have kept him alive!” He pushed his finger into his own chest, “I! His brother, would’ve saved Aamin!”

  “Sir, sorry,” Galro interrupted, pointing down the street.

  During their confrontation, Rurik and Klaric had completely blocked out their surrounds, forgetting the situation at hand. The gate to the city had been lifted and the guardhouse looked empty.

  “This isn’t good,” Rurik shook his head, setting aside personal matters for the moment.

  “Where are the night watchmen?” asked Galro.

  “I don’t know,” Rurik glanced down each alley they passed. “Keep a sharp eye.”

  The three reached the gate and Rurik moved to the small guardhouse off to the side.

  He stepped slowly, pulling a dagger from his belt. He carefully peered in. Nothing seemed amiss, save for the lack of candlelight in the room. Then he saw.

  A single body lay dead off to the side of the room. It was the guard, laying sprawled in a pool of his own blood.

  “We need to get back to headquarters and sound an alarm. This may just be a thief turned murderer fleeing from the city, or something much worse.” Rurik stared at the dead man.

  The three started off at a run, but a scream from an adjacent street stopped them in their tracks. They waited for a moment, trying to discern the direction of the alert.

  The shrill cry cut through the night air again.

  They sprinted around a corner and entered into a long, narrow alleyway between two main roads. A woman with three young children came running out the back door of a building, chased by seven men, head-to-toe in black.

  The assailants cornered the woman and her children and, while moving closer, pulled blades from their belts. The first man to reach them grabbed the young mother by the throat and lifted her off the ground.

  The children cried and shrunk back.

  “Hey!” Rurik shouted, shifting their attention.

  The one holding the mother dropped her and sized up Rurik. She took her opening and punched the man square in the jaw. The strike carried so much anger behind it that he dropped to the ground.

  He stumbled to his feet, only to watch the mother and her children run down another alley and disappear into the night. The man looked at the faces of his stunned comrades, whose black leather face-guards failed to hide their smiles and stifled laughter. It all happened so fast, none thought to react to the mild incident.

  The humiliated intruder shrieked out a loud battle cry in an unknown language. This caused the others to refocus and charge their new targets. The seven men took off at a run toward Rurik, Klaric, and Galro, swords held high over their heads.

  Rurik slipped a shield off his back.

  Klaric stood, waiting with shortsword in hand.

  Galro held his spear out in front of him.

  When almost upon them, Klaric flipped a dagger out of his belt and threw it across the closing gap. The blade rocketed into the chest of one of the intruders, spurting blood marked his fall. Galro followed up a moment later with a lunged throw of his spear, pinning another attacker to the ground.

  The remaining five fell in and the men squared off.

  Rurik caught the attention of two, dodging and parrying one while blocking his side from the other with his constantly moving shield. His opponent overextended and Rurik lashed out at his stomach, spilling blood and entrails onto the street. He slammed the other back with his buckler and jumped forward, striking him down with his sword.

  Klaric threw an elbow into the side of his assailant, pivoted around to his backside, and rammed the blade through his shoulder blades.

  Rurik saw Galro fighting off the last two, but he was slowly losing ground, butting up against a wall. With each strike, his defense became sloppier.

  My brother… A flash of Aamin echoed through Rurik’s mind

  Rurik shook away the image and launched forward. In one fluid motion, he sliced one’s neck and down the back of the other, finishing them with a roar.

  “Quick, we must alert the city!” Klaric shouted, touching the shoulder of his trembling friend. Blood dripping from Rurik’s blade.

  Rurik nodded slowly. “Yes, yes. The General will want the citizens to withdraw into the Keep.” As he mumbled the words, alarm beacons along the wall flared to life.

  “I guess someone else ran into some of these bastards too,” grunted Galro as he yanked his spear from his victim.

  Moments later, giant explosions rocked the residential district. Hungry flames grew and spread across the city. People ran from their houses, screaming as they mobbed the streets of Hillsford. The few who kept their wits about them quickly grabbed precious personal belongings and headed to the center of the city.

  * * *

  The explosions woke the intoxicated General.

  Saris came stumbling out of his door half-dressed to find a soldier running toward him.

  “Sir!” He saluted, “The city is under attack and the alarm beacons have been lit. Everyone is retreating to the safety of the Keep’s walls.”

  Saris looked at the man’s insignia, “Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir, Sergeant Linket.”

  “You were with the company of soldiers who escorted me to the city, correct?”

  “Yes sir, I was. Our company’s Lieutenant and Captain were ordered back to the front line yesterday. I’m in command of the remaining soldiers. It seems the city was in need of support. Good thing we stayed behind.”

  Saris looked down at the little man for a moment.

  “Very well, what is the city’s condition?” Saris reached through the doorway of his room, grabbing his sword and uniform shirt and they started moving down the hallway.

  “The enemy has entered the city through the eastern gate and in burning houses in the residential area. There are fights throughout the
market square and our soldiers are getting pushed back closer and closer to the Keep with every moment that passes.”

  “Do we have a command position?”

  “We have one set up along the northern wall.”

  “Alright, I will be there shortly. Go find Thandril. Any order he gives you, consider it from my lips.” Saris waved the soldier away.

  Saris hurried through the courtyard, brushing past people moving their livestock and belongings into the Keep. Saris had one stop to make before heading to the northern gate—his son.

  He reached the western wing of the main citadel and found Kuran frantically moving about attending wounded civilians and soldiers, prepping them to move. He scanned the room for Archaos and spotted the crib near the fireplace. He quickly went to it and scooped his son into his arms.

  A nurse moved in his direction, struggling to weave through the mess of people. He recognized her from the birth.

  Saris put his arm out to block her. “Woman! Where are all of you going?”

  “We are moving to a makeshift infirmary into the basement of the Keep’s dining hall. It will be safer there and we can work in a more efficient and sterile manner; away from all of the evacuated families. The courtyard is getting too crowded and too disorganized.”

  He handed her the baby, “Take him with you then and don’t let anything happen to him. He is your top priority.”

  She nodded, choking down an argument in response to the direct order.

  “What is your name?” He managed a rare smile.

  “Amira, Sir.”

  “Well, Amira,” he said, looking down at his sleeping son in her arms, “I apologize for the way I acted during the delivery. I was beside myself with worry, and now here we are again. I do not like trusting another with my child’s safety, but if I am not free to command my troops we might all die here. So, I expect you to watch him as if he was your own. Now go.” He motioned for her to leave.

  As she vanished into the sea of people, he pushed through in the other direction, making his way to the command post.

  He stopped, but for a moment, noticing he didn’t have his usual group of soldiers crowding around him, “Where are my private guards?” he asked himself.

  Chapter 10: For Your Head

  Saris reached the northern wall to find Thandril and Sergeant Linket waiting for him.

  Thandril stepped forward to greet the general. “Master, it is good to see you. Things don’t look good. Whoever is attacking the city has other plans than a traditional open siege.”

  Saris, still a little tipsy from his earlier drinking, leaned against the edge of the wall to steady himself. “Explain.”

  “They are targeting small groups of soldiers and minor locations around the city, quick and hard, then retreating back into the alleys. They must have a detailed map of the city, building plans and even mapping of the sewer system. They are quickly decimating our troops in the city. We don’t have enough men to follow after the attackers without leaving vital areas unguarded. And, sir, they have at least one man, maybe more, with some strange kind of magical ability. I chased him out of the barracks earlier. Master, he killed your personal guards.”

  Saris immediately sobered up at hearing that, “What?” He sighed quietly under his breath, “Damn it! What the hell is going on? We saw nothing to indicate enemy troop movement in this region. And, magic? We haven’t seen anyone with special abilities, other than you, since the fall of the druid clans.”

  “Indeed, Master. He was able to duplicate himself and had inhuman golden eyes. Sir, I was not prepared for the fight, and the showing of magic caught me off guard,” Thandril apologized.

  Saris waved it off, “No, no, it isn’t your fault; I know you did what you could. If it were any other man claiming he saw strange feats of magic, I would laugh in his face. It doesn’t matter now; we need to regain control of the situation.” He paced along the stone walkway, “Duplicate?” whispering to himself again, “damn.”

  He turned back around and faced Linket, “How many people have retreated inside the walls?”

  “About half of the city, the rest is lined up outside the gate, slowly moving in.”

  “How about your troops?”

  “The majority of them are inside already.”

  “Then close the gate.”

  “But sir! There are more citizens out—”

  Saris cut the Sergeant off, “It doesn’t matter. We need to seal the gate. That is an order!”

  “I will not do it! The people out there will be killed!”

  Saris nodded, “Very well, I will have someone else do it,” Saris put his hand on the sergeant’s shoulder and, with a quick motion, forced a concealed blade up into the man’s stomach.

  The General tossed the body over the wall, down into the crowd of retreating citizens. “We don’t have time for an ethical deliberation.”

  He yelled at a nearby soldier to come over and gave the order to close the gate.

  Saris started walking along the wall. Thandril fell in beside him.

  “We only have a little over fifty men left sir, and the only ranked soldier is a Corporal named Rurik Kaster. He is combat proven, though; this is his second war. He was also in the first wave of attacks on the Kilgarian fortress. He is able. Would you like me to find him, and send him to you? You will need a field officer.”

  “Alright, go find him.”

  As the druid moved away, Saris shouted out to him, “How many enemy troops do you think are in the city?”

  Thandril didn’t stop walking away. “Can’t be many, or we would have seen them coming.”

  * * *

  A thick fog rolled in around the city, the smell of burnt buildings mixed with the damp, morning air. The abandoned crowd of people camped around the walls of the sealed Keep all night; there had been no attacks. The people considered themselves safe if they kept out of the burning residential district that encircled them.

  A soldier, covered in blood and dirt, ran up to stand before Saris, and saluted, “Sir, we have counted the remaining troops and there is a total of eighty-four. A small mixed unit of thirty-two soldiers from different squadrons joined together out in the city. They made their way to the gate early this morning—that added a little cushion to our numbers. Their admittance was cause for a small riot outside, but it was dealt with swiftly. No one has seen any sign of the enemy since 3 o’clock, and that was just a small group of four men. They were chased off back into the residential district.”

  “Thank you.” Saris stood, looking at the man. “Are you Corporal Kaster?”

  “Yes, Sir. It is an honor to serve directly under you, even if only for a few days.”

  Before Saris could say anything in return, a loud uproar spread throughout the citizens outside the gate, and soldiers along the wall started pointing at something.

  “Let’s see what’s going on,” Saris said, a curious look furrowed his brow.

  The two men ran from the command post, over to where the commotion was. Staring into the thick fog that had enveloped the mass of Hillsford’s housing, they were taken aback by a wall of soldiers marching into view.

  Rurik leaned closer to Saris. “Sir, they bear Merkadian shortswords. They must be from the north. But how could such a large group of soldiers get inside our borders without being noticed?”

  Saris stood watching, without responding to the Corporal.

  The soldiers gradually parted, letting through three men. Two wore black leather outfits, like the rest of the men, obviously for stealth and agility, not defense. The tall man in the center, a greatsword on his shoulder, wore full armor and a sturdy looking helmet. The two in black both looked upon them with intensely yellow eyes, like the man Thandril had seen.

  There was silence and the tall man in armor moved closer, leaving his leather-clad companions behind. He lifted his arms into the air and started shouting something, but neither Saris nor Rurik could make out what he was saying. He seemed to be repeating himself, t
hree sentences over and over.

  Saris looked around, “Does anyone recognize the language?”

  While the scene was unfolding, Thandril had moved to stand next to the General, “He speaks Kitam.”

  Saris waved his hands about as if to coax it out of him. “What the hell is Kitam? What are they saying?” He asked, impatiently.

  “The Kitamites are a small tribe of hillmen. They live on the eastern side of the Merkadian Mountains. They say, ‘We are the Blades of Kitam. The Talurian Empire will fall. We came for your leader’s head’,” replied Thandril, “Do you wish me to say something in response?”

  Saris just looked at his companion, “You never cease to amaze me! How do you know all that?”

  Thandril just shrugged, “I have studied many things. Do you want me to say something back to him?”

  “No. Go see if someone else here can speak this Kitamite language, and then I need you to try and get north to our army. You can make it out of here in bird form,” Saris scanned the ever growing line of soldiers making their way out of the smoky haze, “I don’t know how long we have.”

  Chapter 11: The Slave

  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.