His Dark Empire (Tears of Blood)

by Forbes, M. R.

  "Your son was Cursed, Talon. He didn't make it happen. You did what you had to do. Blaming him, or the Overlord isn't going to help anything."

  Silas shook his head. "You don't know?" he asked.

  "Know what?" Feng replied.

  "The Curse. It's a sickness. Aren wasn't born with it. He gave it to him." He motioned at the Overlord. "He injected it into him, to make him sick."

  Eryn couldn't believe it. She was sick? She remembered Malik's journal. Was that what would happen to her? She felt the fear starting to overwhelm her, and she forced herself to be calm. Silas needed her right now.

  "Is it true?" Feng asked Iolis.

  The Overlord nodded. "It's true. But don't you think he had his reasons, Feng?"

  Silas looked at the swordsman, his eyes pleading. Feng looked back and forth between him and the Overlord.

  "I'm sorry, Talon," he said at last. "Your grief has overcome you, and your loyalty has fled if you don't believe there was a good reason for what he did. He didn't break the oath. You did."

  Silas lowered his head, still shaking it. "Why would he want Aren dead, when he has a cure?"

  Eryn's heart lifted. A cure? She didn't have to wind up like Malik. It was a sickness they could fix.

  "I'm sure there is a good reason, Talon. Have you ever thought that your son was a rebel, a traitor? That he was trying to undermine all of the hard work we've done?"

  Silas' head shot up. "He knew. The truth that I refused to see. The truth that you refuse to see." He looked at the Overlord. "Freeze me, Mediator. Hold my body so that you can end my life. If you don't, I'm going to kill you."

  The Overlord smiled, and held out his hand. Eryn could see a gold stone sitting on top of an ircidium ring. "He's given me permission to kill you, Talon. It didn't come easily, but I talked him into it."

  Eryn's heart jumped into her throat. The Overlord was Cursed? She had to do something, or he was going to kill Silas.

  She saw the stone on the ring begin to glow. Silas' sword came up, and he hopped forward, a quick slash intended to cut Iolis' finger off. Feng's blade met his, and batted it away.

  "Don't make him do this, brother," Feng said. "We can work it out. It's all been a misunderstanding."

  Silas was the one laughing now. "A misunderstanding? He killed him!" He went for the Overlord again, but Feng intervened. He blocked two quick thrusts and went on the offensive.

  Eryn closed her eyes and tried to picture the bellows. She couldn't bring it to mind over the cracking of the blades, in a pattern so fast she could barely believe the two men could follow one another well enough to avoid being cut.

  She gave up on it, and focused on her breathing. She didn't have much time.

  Clang, clang, clang, the swords smacked together at a dizzying pace. If she had opened her eyes, she would have seen Silas and Feng dancing around the room, twirling and slashing, parrying and thrusting. They were both Generals, both masters of war and battle. Brothers of a sort, according to Feng.

  She took hold of the sound in her mind. The rhythm of metal on metal, like the hammer folding iron on the forge. She found her place there, and began to feel the tingle between her ears.

  "Enough," she heard the Overlord say. She could sense the power feeding out of him and into the ring. She could feel it amplified by the stone and pushed at Silas. A moment later, the fighting stopped.

  She fought to hold onto her own power, and hoped that the Overlord was too concerned with Silas to notice her. She kept the ringing of the blades in her memory, held it tight and kept it beating away, feeling more energy rushing into her body, pooling throughout her limbs.

  She had sped herself up once, to save them from the monsters of the Rushes. She said the word then, hearing it escape her lips at hyper speed.

  "Incitat."

  She opened her eyes. As she expected, Silas was frozen, held by the Overlord's power. Feng was frozen too, or at least he seemed that way, stuck in a slowness of time that she had either created, or escaped. The Overlord was equally trapped, as were the two soldiers, who had come running at the sound of the fighting.

  She ran down the steps, bending over to pick up her sword on the way down. Her head was starting to hurt, and she could feel the blood running from both eyes. She couldn't hold this for long.

  She went for the Overlord. If she killed him, his power over Silas would cease. She ran right up in front of him, drawing back her sword and pushing it forward, to stab him in the stomach.

  He moved.

  He stepped to the side, and grabbed her wrist, squeezing it so hard she dropped the blade. It fell so slowly, it was almost as though it was floating in the air. At the same time, the glow from the ring faded.

  "You?" he said, surprised. "You're a child, and you created a distortion field?" He held her wrist, looking down at her, fear and blood in his eyes.

  "I did what I had to do. I'm not going to let you kill Silas." She struggled against his grip, trying to shake herself free. Her headache was getting stronger.

  "It took me twelve years to make a distortion field," he said. He held her while he leaned over and grabbed her discarded blade.

  "Let me go," she cried. She bent her head down and tried to bite him, but he tugged her off-balance.

  "You're the reason he kills our kind," the Overlord said, his anger obvious. He lifted the sword up, but Eryn could tell he was straining to do it. "Cursed like you can't be allowed to live, if you refuse to be loyal."

  His voice, and his grip were weakening. Eryn was feeling dizzy herself, her eyes blurring while she looked at him.

  "Loyal? How do you expect loyalty, when you murder people's families?"

  She tugged her wrist again, and this time it came free. The Overlord fell to his knees, the blood pouring from his eyes so quickly that it created a regular trickle to the floor.

  "You don't understand," he said. "It has to be this way. You don't know what you're doing." The sword fell from his grip, back towards the floor, the distortion causing it to move ever so slowly.

  "I know what I'm doing." Eryn walked over and took the hilt, feeling her power beginning to fade, along with her consciousness. The Overlord watched her, leaning on his hands to stay upright, his entire face red with blood. She raised the sword up, to stab down into his back, and then saw that he had frozen.

  The Overlord would be too weak to hold Silas again, and she only had seconds, she knew, before her power was gone. She twisted around and plunged her sword into Feng's stomach. She felt a hint of guilt and sadness at it, because he had at least seemed like an honorable man, but he had become the biggest threat.

  She let go of the hilt, and fell to the floor.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Silas

  Silas had known from the time he had woken from his memories that the only way he would be able to defeat the Overlord was with Eryn's help. What he hadn't known was if she would be able to do it.

  When Iolis had frozen him, he believed his life was over, his mission to find justice for Aren, and all of the Cursed, failed. He stood with his muscles locked in position with Feng and the Overlord looking at him, his brother prepared to sink his blade into his chest.

  It was another forgotten memory, remembered when he saw the man. Feng had once been his Lieutenant, his strategist and confidant. After the battle in Neder, he had been promoted to General Errant, a roaming leader who traveled where he was needed. They were brothers, not in blood but in deed. They had sworn an oath, he and Feng, along with the others from his generation, along with him. Loyalty, honesty, brotherhood, with loyalty foremost above all else. There was nothing loyal in his deception, regardless of what Feng had decided. Fighting him had been a painful sadness. Falling to him a humiliation.

  Then, something had happened. Silas found he could move. His body fell forward as it was let go of the Overlord's power. Feng was still next to him, but he was doubled over on the ground, a sword point protruding through his back. Eryn's sword.

  E
ryn was there, on the ground, her face laying towards him, almost peaceful despite the blood that coated it. The Overlord was behind her, on his hands and knees and looking up at him with dull, weak eyes.

  He heard the metal boots of the soldiers approaching. He turned and slipped his blade past one's guard, and then the other, putting deep slashes into their abdomens before they even knew they had been attacked. They both fell while he turned back to Iolis.

  "Talon," the Overlord said. "I was there. The day Aren died. I killed him. I cut off his head."

  Silas looked down on him.

  "Murderer," he whispered.

  ***

  He could hear the crowd outside. The murmurs, the cries, the hisses and hushes. He could feel the pent up anger and frustration in the air. He knew the assembled masses had heard the fighting inside. He knew that they would be wondering what was happening, as would the gathered soldiers who had never been summoned to an alarm that had never been raised.

  He walked towards the open doors that led out to the balcony, his bare feet slippery from the blood that had run beneath them. Red footprints trailed in his wake, a shedding of pain and sorrow.

  As he grew closer to the balcony, he could see out past the palace walls, to the city below. He was surprised by the fires he spied in the background, and the distant echoes of shouting and battle. Before that moment, he'd have had no way to know what he had started in Elling, just by being present in the city. He'd have had no way to know how many had answered Atticus' call.

  The walk felt like it took him forever. He was tired, and sore, and more than a little worried about the girl he had left behind, resting on the floor, the Overlord's cloak covering her and keeping her warm. He had found the beginnings of the thread of memories that had been stolen from him, and with it a measure of vengeance for the wife and son that had been stolen, but he still had one more thing to do.

  When he reached the balcony, he placed his left hand upon the railing, to hold himself up. He looked down at the citizens of Elling. He looked down at the soldiers gathered there to conduct the searches and keep the crowds in line. They looked back at him, confused, scared, upset.

  He found the bowmen on the walls across from him. They had a clear line of sight, and were well within range, yet they held and waited. They could see what was going on outside the walls. It was easy to be loyal when you were in control.

  He took a deep breath.

  "My name is Silas Morningstar," he said, his voice booming across the courtyard. "Many years ago, I was known as Talon Rast, General of the Northern Armies. I fought for him, killed for him, murdered your sons and daughters for him."

  He paused, waiting to see how the crowd would react. They stood silent, staring up at him, their faces a mixture of shock, anger, and uncertainty.

  "I came out here to apologize to you. To pledge myself to you. To promise you my dedication in bringing an end to his dark empire. I have brought you a gift, a token of my vow. The rebellion has started, here in Elling. It will finish when I reach his gates, and squeeze the life from him with these hands."

  He lifted both of his hands then, his body unsteady on tired legs. A gasp rippled through the throng.

  Silas drew back his right hand, threw the head of Overlord Iolis out into the courtyard below, turned, and walked away.

  The crowd erupted in chaos.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Epilogue

  They found the hidden room under a pile of dirt and burned out timber; the remains of the home where Aren and Kaelyn Rast had once lived. It had taken almost a month of searching, first to find the lost village of Addletown, and then to locate the proper house. Plenty of sweat had been shed over the tasks of digging, lifting, and sweeping wood, leaves, ash, and earth.

  "Are you sure this is it?" Eryn asked. She stood next to Silas, joining him in looking down on the solid block of stone.

  "It must be," Silas said. "Only a Cursed could move this door."

  He smiled at the statement. In the end, his son had outsmarted them all. They had given him the Curse, the sickness, in order to get rid of his thorn in their sides and keep their General loyal. In the end, Aren had used it both to protect the secrets he held most dear, and to stick them with an even bigger thorn. He would have made a fine General in his own right.

  "My back is killing me," Robar said, sitting on the grass behind them with his wife.

  "Be quiet," Sena said.

  "Can you move it?" Silas asked.

  Ever since she had woken from the drain and fever caused by pushing the Curse, her power, so hard, Eryn had seemed to gain a measure of greater control over it. Not only had she remembered the effects of her last use, the 'distortion field' as the Overlord had named it, but since then she had been able to bring small amounts of the power forth almost without thinking.

  Eryn nodded. She closed her eyes and spread her hands with her palms facing up.

  "Leva," she said.

  The huge block of stone rattled, and then shifted, lifting out of its place and coming to rest on the ground. The movement revealed a ladder down into the darkness.

  It had been nearly three months since Silas and Eryn had defeated the Overlord. The summer of discontent had moved into autumn, and the city of Elling stood as a bastion of hope for the rest of the Empire, as a city where Cursed and their families could come and be safe from his reach.

  It hadn't come without cost. The relative peace had been preceded by two bloody months of fighting; first against the soldiers and loyalists living in Elling, and then against additional forces that had been ordered to the region.

  Based on skill alone, it might have been a slaughter, but he had lost a General, while the rebels had gained one. They also had overwhelming numbers on their side, with more able-bodied men and women finding their way to Elling every day.

  Silas' simple act of defiance had been a spark on fine tinder, lighting a flame left smoldering for years. The victory in Elling had given their part of the Empire something it hadn't had in a long time - hope. Word would spread of his defeat, and the nascent rebellions throughout the Empire would only grow larger and more bold, and perhaps, just perhaps, in time they would keep him too busy to send an army to Elling that was large enough to crush it, instead spreading his forces thin enough that victory might somehow be possible.

  That was Silas' hope, and he held onto it, for he knew the days of darkness in his empire would not be so easily vanished. For one thing, there was the Curse, a disease that Aren had said would kill most of those who had it within a few years' time. A disease that he knew how to cure, or at least hold at bay. Iolis had been Cursed for fourteen years or more. Not only had he not succumbed to it, but Constable Penticott had been right; the Mediator's body seemed as young as it had been in Silas' memory.

  He glanced over at Eryn, who had walked over to the ladder and held out her hand.

  "Ignus," she said.

  A small ball of bright white light appeared in her palm, and she turned it over and let it go. She watched it float down into the darkness, bringing light to Aren's secrets.

  Eryn wasn't immune to the effects of the Curse. She would die along with any other who had or would develop the disease if they didn't find him, or at least his cure. That was more than enough reason for Silas to seek him, but he also had the promise he had made to the people of Elling.

  It would be no easy task, for there was no one, not even his Overlords, or his Generals, who knew where he was. Their commands were delivered to them through large, round, black stones placed in the high towers of the provincial capital palaces, and were passed into the field either by messenger, or through the use of the strange ircidium discs. Silas had hoped capturing the palace would allow them to eavesdrop on his communications, but the stone they had found in the eastern tower had crumbled within a week of the Overlord's death.

  "Come on, old man," Eryn said. She stood at the top of the ladder, her legs already on the top rungs.

  Silas walked o
ver, and they climbed down, one after the other. He hadn't known what to expect when he reached the bottom. Nothing could have prepared him for what he found.

  The room was long and narrow, with just enough space for a single person to walk down the center between a matched pair of wooden counters that rested against each side of the room. On the left counter, a number of glass vials rested in racks, with many of the vials containing dark red liquid beneath cork stoppers. Silas was sure it was blood.

  Next to the vials sat an odd contraption that Silas didn't recognize or understand. It was made of wood and metal and glass, with two tubes that faced downward, spaced apart as though they were meant to be looked through. A raised tray rested in the center, on which sat another piece of glass with a drop of blood smeared onto it.

  On the opposite counter were three books, all laying closed, a quill, and a dried up inkwell, along with rows of colored stones, each with a label underneath.

  Floating above them was the small, bright ball of light, the light that Eryn had created.

  "I don't understand any of this," Silas said.

  Eryn put her hand to the book closest to the quill, and opened the cover. Inside rested a few loose sheets of paper. She glanced at them, and then held them out.

  Silas took them from her, and began to read.

  Father,

  I write this letter with the greatest hope that you will one day hold it in your hands, read these words I have written, and understand why events have unfolded the way they have. There is so much I would like to say, so much I wish I could have said, but I fear my time is short.

  There are three books in this room. The first, closest to the quill, is my translation of the ancient language to our own, so that when you come across this writing that predates his Empire, you will be able to read it. There are truths within this language that he wants none to see, and he has gone as far as to send special soldiers out to find any and all such texts.