Battle of Demons: Empire Wars Book One

by Moon, Tim

  Battle of Demons

  Empire Wars Book One

  Tim Moon

  Beast Mountain Ltd.

  Copyright © 2017 Tim Moon

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, products, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead (or undead), is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Furthermore, the inclusion of zombies renders any resemblance to reality invalid.

  Connect with Tim:

  TimDMoon.com

  @TimDMoon

  Facebook.com/TimDMoon

  Contents

  Become a Warrior

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Become a Warrior

  Author Notes

  About the Author

  Become a Warrior

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  Chapter 1

  Han hunched his shoulders against the biting chill of the mountain breeze. The last remaining stars twinkled high overhead, as snow crunched beneath his boots. His eyes glowed red with magic that illuminated the otherwise white snow covering the ground. He grunted softly as he shifted the large woven backpack he carried and took a deep breath of the thin air. His shoulders ached from the weight of the pack, which held vital supplies for his mission. Even though it was still dark, it had already been hours since he started the final leg of the journey early that morning.

  Han was alone on the mountaintop as the first glow of the pending sunrise glowed in the east. From that elevation, the horizon seemed to be far below him. Han paused.

  He looked around, listening carefully for the enemy. Animals did not make their home here, so the only noises he heard other than the wind were his own.

  Several days into his journey, Han was pleased to be near his destination. He began his climb on one side of the mountain and blazed a path toward an ancient monastery built into its rocky flank on the far side. Magical wards cast by mofa and patrols of daxia warriors who resided at the monastery made the dangerous alternate route necessary.

  Han was not a welcomed guest, so the direct route would only endanger himself and his mission.

  Before the sun crept over the horizon, Han stopped for a small meal to replenish his energy for the last stretch of his mission. He dropped his pack and rifled through its contents. It held many things, such as a cold weather version of his uniform, which featured a lighter color palette for better camouflage in alpine mountain conditions, and a long hemp rope for rappelling down to the monastery from above.

  He finished the last of his food, but saved some water in a fur-covered waterskin. He carried it tucked into the folds of his inner clothing, so his body heat would keep it from freezing.

  After nearly a year of collecting intelligence, Han had discovered the location of the artifact stolen from his lord. It was an artifact of immense power. According to the description he received, Han knew it to be a gold signet with the seal of the Emperor of Ishigandar. Han was eager to collect the item and return it to his homeland for transport to the lord’s castle.

  He ran through the plan in his mind as he trudged forward, blazing the final leg of his journey through the knee-deep snow. Despite the cold, Han was content with his mission. He enjoyed the quiet of the high mountains. Once he entered the monastery, things were likely to grow loud and chaotic.

  For now, the mood was peaceful and the scenery was enchanting. Han reveled in the beauty of the peaks rising all around him. The first slivers of light rose over and around the jagged rocks, like spotlights along the Spider’s Thread warning away ships from the dangerous chain of islands that loosely connected Dagongshan with Ishigandar.

  Han stopped at a rock outcrop and slid the backpack from his shoulders again. He was at the place described to him. At this spot, two boulders jutted east, like gnarled fingers. He would ditch his thick, fur-lined gear and pack between the boulders, switch into the cold weather uniform, anchor himself to the sturdy boulders and rappel down to the monastery, carefully avoiding detection.

  Han focused his power to transfer the light from his eyes to one of the jagged stones. The reddish light winked out for just a moment as his vision dulled, then emanated from the rock he had selected. Without wasting another second, Han pulled off his coat and quickly donned his cold weather uniform. From here, his journey would take him down to the temple and warmer temperatures, where bulky fur would not only draw suspicion, but also impede his movement. Minute ice crystals caught in the wind assaulted his skin as he changed.

  When he finished dressing, Han balled up the clothing and hid the bundle beneath a low overhang. He quickly swept some snow to cover the hiding spot. After he concealed his gear, he pulled out the rope and looped it around one of the boulders. He tied it off and tested it with a few hard yanks. The braided rope shifted against the stone, but quickly settled in place and easily took his full weight.

  Han pulled on the harness he prepared the day before. It would keep him connected to the rope, giving him the freedom to halt his movement and use both hands to fight, deal with traps, or navigate around other obstructions. He slid it up and over his uniform, then adjusted several slipknots before tying off the ends to keep it in place.

  Satisfied that the harness would hold, Han pulled a carefully wrapped and tightly bound cloak from his backpack. He kept it wrapped in the bundle to avoid damage. The bundle had two shoulder loops like his pack, so he could carry it on his back. It was no ordinary cloak; a powerful mofa, Han’s mentor and leader, Master Yoshi, enchanted this one and it was vital to his escape.

  Han took the main rope and expertly wound it through a special loop in his harness. Fishing out his waterskin, Han took a drink, placed it back in his inner shirt pocket, stretched his arms a little, pulled on his gloves, and sucked in a deep breath.

  Despite his many adventures, Han was no fan of heights.

  With one last nervous adjustment of his gloves, Han grasped the rope and walked backward to the edge of the cliff. The heels of his boots hung over the edge. His heart fluttered. Glancing down, Han saw the sizable drop he faced until he would reach an exposed section of roof. Thankfully, the slant of the roof was steep enough to keep snow from collecting.

  Light spilled from the monastery casting a glow on the surrounding cliff face. Wisps of cloud lazily drifted over the dark void. In the distance to his left, he saw torches slowly bobbing along the main route that people took to the monastery. He knew large security patrols carried the torches.

  He then pushed away from the safety of the ledge. A few large, bounding hops later, and Han slowly lowered his feet onto the snow-covered tile roof of the monastery. He crouched down and pressed his body against the cliff to stay out of sight. He carefully slid the harness off, keeping the rope attached to it, and jammed the whole thing into a gap between the roof tiles and the mountain.

  With the evidence of his arrival hidden, Han crept along the ridge of the slippery roof, following the stone where the cliff jutted out to create a corner. From there, he carefully moved down along the edge where the roof tiles were set into the stone. Once at the front edge, dangerously close to the dark void below, he would be able to hold himself between the rock and the gutter to climb down
onto the balcony.

  As he neared the edge, Han heard footsteps below. He froze and listened intently. Within a few moments, the steps passed. He waited a few more heartbeats before peering over the edge to check for any sign of the patrol. According to the information he was given, he should have one minute between patrols.

  Han’s pulse quickened with excitement and he smiled.

  Chapter 2

  With no more time to waste lurking outside, Han gripped the edge of the roof and pressed his feet against the cliff. Holding himself away from the edge to avoid any scraping sounds, he slowly walked his feet down and lowered his body. He clung to the roof just a moment with his feet dangling in the air before swinging forward. He had just enough momentum to clear the railing and land softly on the walkway below.

  Crouching down, Han listened for patrols. The guards raised no alarm, so he continued with his mission.

  The walkway was just wide enough for two men to walk side by side without rubbing shoulders. The walls and floorboards were made of thick wooden planks and, despite their obvious age, they did not squeak. Han stalked toward the first of several doors along the walkway. He paused and strained to hear if anyone was inside.

  No sound came from within, so Han knelt in front of the door, sliding lock-picking tools from a pouch sewn into his uniform. A chill ran up his spine as a gust of wind blew over him. It was significantly colder now that he was out of his thick winter suit. His ansha garb was made of thick fabric for the cold winter months, but it lacked the plush, insulating fur of the winter suit.

  Letting out a breath that billowed around him, Han inspected the door for any obstructions, like traps. He found nothing, so he set about picking the lock. It was not difficult. Considering the monastery was located high in the mountains with its many inherent risks and guarded by the warrior monks who resided there, it was a wonder they bothered with locks at all.

  Han finished unlocking the door and slid the tools back into their pouch, replacing it in the folds of his uniform. His hand fell to the hilt of his sword as he slowly cracked open the door and looked inside.

  The door opened to a small room that was pleasantly empty as far as he could tell. A ledge carved into the wall held a bedroll. Beside it was a square table with an unlit candle and along the opposite wall was a closet where the room’s occupant would likely store their modest collection of clothing. In the far corner of the room was another door that he knew would lead to the interior of the monastery.

  Han took a deep breath, enjoying the rush of warmer air and stepped inside. He inspected the floor for traps and wards as he crossed the space. The doorknob was clear of traps, so he cracked open the door and peeked into the hallway.

  After a moment of listening, he swung the door open and entered the hallway. He had captured a wandering monk and after a vicious battle, he interrogated him about the details of the building and people within. Interrogations were nasty affairs Han tried to avoid. Even though the man was an enemy and a powerful foe, he did not enjoy it. In this case, the monk was not forthcoming and the information was vital. He did what he had to. Along with the details of the security measures and treasure vault, he also memorized everything the monk told him about the layout of the monastery before leaving his body to fertilize the forest and embarking on his mission.

  With the knowledge he had gained, Han knew if he turned to the right, he would end up passing two traps and would likely end up walking into a foot patrol. If he turned to the left, there was only one trap between him and the staircase.

  Han turned left. Glancing quickly over the railing, he saw a pair of guards walking down the stairs two levels below him, and another pair of guards walking up the stairs on the next floor down. He would have to hide from them in order to reach the hallway that would take him out of the living quarters. This was perhaps the most dangerous part of the mission. A random person or change in the patrol schedule could expose him. Everyone in the monastery was a threat since the monks were all warriors of some sort.

  Han had to reach the end of the hall before the guards on the floor below came up the staircase. He padded away from the railing, moving silently. Han slipped into a room just as the guards rounded the corner on the landing and started up the last steps to reach the top floor, where he had entered.

  Luck was not with him. A man stood in the middle of the room adjusting a uniform that lay on his bed. Han didn’t hesitate. He gave the door a light push and heard it shut quietly behind him. At the same time, he dove toward the man with incredible speed and gracefully rolled to his feet. The startled warrior monk gasped at the sudden flurry of movement. Han had seemingly appeared right next to him.

  The man instinctively dropped his weight and struck out with a fist. It was a poorly aimed, hastily thrown punch that Han slapped aside while he delivered his own quick jab to the throat. The man’s eyes bulged as he reached for his damaged windpipe. He began to make an unsettling gurgling sound. Han followed up the strike with a knee to the chest. Using the momentum generated as his leg returned to the floor, he aimed a vicious elbow at the man’s temple. With a soft grunt, he went down.

  Han caught the body before it hit the floor, setting it down lightly. With a swift twist, he snapped the man’s neck.

  He stood up and glanced back toward the door, ready for anything as he listened for any sign the struggle betrayed him. Again, nothing. Han’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and he sneered at the man on the floor. He had been easily dispatched. Too easily.

  Han lifted the man’s body and placed him on his bed, giving him a shove to tilt the body away from the door so he would appear to be sleeping.

  “Rest eternal,” he whispered.

  Chapter 3

  Winding his way through the labyrinthine monastery took another quarter hour. Using his night vision spell, Han found his way down to an arched hallway.

  At the end of the hallway was an ornately carved steel and gold plated vault door behind which sat the object at the heart of his mission. The metal glinted in the light emanating from his eyes with a reddish hue. Silence filled the passage.

  Han enjoyed the comforting stillness because it made detecting the presence of others that much easier. He felt moisture in the air and the lower level of the monastery smelled musty like a cave. He faintly heard water dripping in the distance, which made him think that the passage likely connected at some point to the cave system the ancients carved out and shaped to their will.

  Is this where they draw their water?

  A brief idea flitted through his mind, but he pushed it aside. There was little benefit in poisoning their water if that was indeed where it originated. He was to leave as little trace of his infiltration as possible. The clock was already ticking. If someone discovered the body he left behind, they would raise the alarm.

  To guard against an ambush, Han ran back to the nearest intersection and cast a defensive ward. Anyone entering the area would melt from a blast of acid.

  When he finished, he strode back to the ornate door with purpose. Han inspected everything ahead of him for switches, unusual cracks, trip wires or anything that might conceal a trap meant to maim or kill him. It was a tedious, yet necessary process.

  He did find something …

  As his gaze passed over the walls and up to the ceiling, he noticed identical bumps in opposite corners of the ceiling. He looked closely at them, allowing the light from his eyes to illuminate the suspicious features. From the direction he walked, they looked like slightly misshapen stones. Once he stepped forward and turned around, he saw finger-sized holes on the side facing the vault door. Han figured they were large enough for crossbow bolts or possibly giant darts. When triggered, they would fire toward the door, skewering anyone foolish enough to open it. Neither bolts nor darts enticed him, so Han set about finding a way to disarm it.

  The first step was to find the trigger. Experience told Han it would be something on or near the vault door so the thieves would be in the kill zone when i
t triggered.

  Han was no thief, though. The item within the vault did not belong there. It belonged with its true owner, his lord. Recovering the item was not so much a matter of personal gain as it was honor and duty. Once he had the item, Han would personally return it to his lord. The trip to the monastery had been long and arduous, and after reaching the monastery, the return trip would seem like a pleasant stroll through the forest.

  Searching the walls near the vault door revealed nothing. It was not until Han focused on the floor in the area that he guessed was the kill zone that he found a switch. A false cobblestone on the border of the mosaic inlaid before the door caught his eye. The mosaic formed the monastery’s symbol, the snow tiger. The color of the cobblestone was lighter than the surrounding ones for lack of wear.

  Han crouched down on the floor to inspect it. He would prefer not to activate the switch in case it set off an alarm of some sort. Rather, he focused on neutralizing it.

  While the cool, gray stone lacked the aura of magic, Han was still suspicious. The item within was of great power and political importance. If for no other reason, it held symbolic meaning. If Empress Qorin ordered her ansha to steal it, as it appeared, then surely it would warrant the highest levels of protection possible.

  Han found no aura, not even the slightest tremor of a magical ward. He frowned and pushed himself up into a contemplative squat. Either the mofa was so powerful he could conceal his work, or there simply was nothing there. They may not have bothered with magic, considering the temple’s location and strong defenses.