The Fall of Erlon (The Falling Empires Saga Book 1)

by Robert H Fleming

  “I see.” Lauriston’s voice was calm. His hands were steady as he fed the growing fire.

  “I was at Three Bridges,” Pitt said.

  “Naturally.” There was no change in the marshal’s demeanor, no hint of emotion in his voice, no betrayal of turmoil from the memories.

  Pitt chose to continue listing other battles. “But also Riom. And Stetton. There I had a view of Desaix’s charge from the right.”

  “From the Brunian right?” Lauriston looked up from the fire with eyebrows raised. “Must’ve been terrifying.”

  “Yes.”

  Lauriston had been the general in command at Stetton. That was only a year after Lannes took the throne as Erlonian Emperor. It was before the rank of marshal had been created by imperial decree.

  “Where were you at Riom?” Lauriston bent down to blow low through the coals. The fire grew stronger and he warmed his hands over the flames.

  “The center, on the bluff. But we were ordered to reinforce our attack on your right early on.” Pitt leaned forward to share in the warmth.

  Riom was earlier than Stetton. Pitt was only a captain then. This battle was another memory that showed King Charles’s failures. Pitt couldn’t escape the Wahrian king, even after his death.

  “I led the attack on the center that morning.”

  “I know. You won the fight for Lannes. You crushed us.”

  “That was quite a fight.” Lauriston stood and threw a larger log onto the fire.

  Quite the blunder on Charles’s part, Pitt thought to himself. It lost the man his throne, started the descent that would eventually send his family into exile for a decade.

  Pitt shook his head. “You mean a slaughter,” he said as he watched a group of sparks rise up towards the sky.

  “Well, yes. Lannes had the battle all planned out, exactly how it ended up happening. We merely just went where he told us and fought.”

  “That’s being modest. Your attack was executed flawlessly.” When Lauriston didn’t respond immediately, Pitt asked another question. “What was it like, being with the emperor in the beginning?”

  Lauriston resumed his seat and thought for a second. “He wasn’t emperor yet at Riom, but he was meant to lead from the beginning. That whole campaign was nothing but masterful strategic work. He and I hadn’t known each other long, but we were already a good team. He taught me a lot about leading soldiers.”

  “And he laid out the entire strategy of Riom beforehand?” Pitt thought on the military diagrams of the battle. It had been a flawless victory. And a horrible defeat for Brun and Wahring.

  “Yes. I helped a little, but the full idea was his. The entire plan was his.” Lauriston wasn’t looking at Pitt; the marshal stared into the new morning fire.

  Pitt could see the reverence in his eyes. This man in front of him was a great leader in his own right, yet he still deferred to Lannes.

  Pitt paused as he saw something else flash across the marshal’s face. He could have been mistaken, but there was something else under the reverent expression Lauriston held for Lannes. Something darker, like a flicker of doubt?

  No, that wasn’t possible.

  This was the second most successful military mind on the Continent at the moment. Marshal Lauriston was only behind Emperor Lannes himself.

  Pitt cleared his throat and wanted to say something more. He wanted to apologize for his country’s role in taking Lannes away from Lauriston and the rest of Erlon. Apologize for what happened at Three Bridges and for pulling the Kurakin into the conflict. But the words wouldn’t form in his throat.

  The moment was lost. The fire licked at a full stack of logs now and other soldiers began to join them as the camp woke and started the day.

  “I think it’s time we packed up.” Lauriston stood and greeted his men. “We must make good time today.”

  The marshal moved away and Pitt felt awe for the man, but another emotion pushed its way through once Lauriston was gone.

  Pitt envied Lauriston.

  The marshal had his glory. He had stories and legends surrounding him. Pitt had nothing.

  And there would always be nothing for Pitt if he didn’t somehow take this opportunity with this new war and win glory with these Erlonians.

  What would his sisters have done if he’d died in the woods at the hands of the Kurakin? What would his mother have left to support her? Pitt didn’t want to think about it.

  He needed to somehow pull himself out of this hole and stay focused on the positives. This new war was his second chance. Marshal Lauriston was fighting to save Erlon and Pitt would join him. All of Brun needed to accept the help of the Erlonians against the Horde now.

  The marshal handed out breakfast to the soldiers as they took seats around the fire or worked to take down their tents for the day. Pitt accepted his ration of hardtack and stared into the fire and ate his breakfast in silence as the rest of the camp moved around him.

  * * *

  When the group of soldiers started on the path for the day’s march, Pitt’s thoughts drifted away from his own failures. Instead he chose to focus on the chaos of this new war erupting from the Kurakin betrayal. He was thankful for these new thoughts, but there were still plenty of unanswered questions to dwell on from this topic as well.

  The Kurakin had betrayed the Coalition and shattered everything that had been accomplished since the capture of Emperor Lannes and the invasions of Erlon. The war had somehow flipped on its head. These Erlonians around Pitt now needed to be his allies. Brun needed to fight with them to defeat the Kurakin.

  Even if the two historic enemies chose to work together, it still may not be enough.

  Pitt had seen the might of the Kurakin. He’d had seen General Duroc at their head. He’d seen the bloodthirsty Horde erupt in cheers as King Charles dangled at the end of a rope.

  He didn’t see how anyone could fight that army. He didn’t see how Brun could win.

  Pitt shook his head as his horse followed the trail after the line of soldiers stretching in front of them. The Erlonian general named Montholon rode next to Pitt and offered him the bottle of wine that the general always carried. Pitt shook his head but smiled at Montholon to show he was thankful for the offer.

  It was strange for Marshal Lauriston to allow this old general to drink so much. But Pitt had seen Lauriston and Mon deep in conversation late into the evenings or during the long hikes during the day. Lauriston trusted this man’s opinion, even when he was in the bottle. There was something more behind this General Montholon that Pitt wasn’t aware of yet.

  The other officers and soldiers had all been just as nice to Pitt so far. The Erlonian princess had made sure he was uninjured after the fight and offered him food. The Lakmian Lodi had checked for hypothermia from the cold flight without clothes. The general named Quatre always asked if Pitt wanted to join in his card games at night.

  These were good people. Pitt would fight for these men. He owed them at least that much for saving him.

  But would Brun feel the same way?

  Would Pitt’s soldiers, wherever they were now, follow him into a new alliance? Would King Nelson agree with that course of action? Would the other Brunian generals?

  Was King Nelson even aware of the Kurakin betrayal yet? What would the people back in Trafal and across the Brunian island think?

  Pitt’s head spun when trying to think of all the political ramifications of this new war. That wasn’t his job; he didn’t understand the larger Continental concerns with treaties among the large factions. The only thing he could focus on right now was the trail in front of them.

  Marshal Lauriston seemed to be focusing on the short term as well. He was pushing to get the group to safety and find his army in this forest first. Then he was going to worry about the rest of the war.

  Pitt would do that too. He would seek to emulate the marshal and see where this new course took him.

  The trail narrowed between two trees and Pitt slowed. He nodded to Montholon bes
ide him and the general tipped his hat in thanks as he passed between the trees first. Pitt kicked his horse back into motion and followed the old Erlonian.

  They continued down the path for the rest of the day and Pitt’s thoughts tried to keep raging, but he was able to remain focused. Kurakin Scythes chased this group. They needed to find the Erlonian army. That was the goal. That was all Pitt needed to concentrate on at the moment.

  Chapter 21

  Leadership is appearing strong when you have doubts. It’s never leaving your men. It’s fighting on no matter what.

  From Emperor Gerald Lannes’s Personal Journal

  Year 1114 Post-Abandonment, days after his defeat at Klostern

  Leberecht

  Leberecht stepped out of his tent and took in the sights of the Kurakin camp around him and felt the air pulsing with the power of an army before battle. He wasn’t an experienced warrior—this was his first time on a full campaign—but even he could recognize the energy of a group of soldiers who would win the coming fight.

  It terrified him.

  The Kurakin Horde was an unnatural force. It was unnerving enough talking with Mikhail alone in a tent or traveling on the road, but now that Leberecht was here, he began to question his decision to take the Kurakin on as allies.

  He didn’t truly regret his grand scheme and the war he’d launched against the remaining members of the Coalition. But the idea of fang-toothed and hairy Horde soldiers streaming across the Continent to sack its great cities still unnerved him.

  There were no mammoth units here, no Scythes on wolverines. The normal soldiers were enough to keep those thoughts alive, though.

  Leberecht walked through the camp on most mornings. He saw the common Kurakin soldiers interacting with each other. They ate a breakfast of nearly raw meat that was only seared for seconds on a skillet. They marched in disorganized lines but were always on time. The units roamed around in packs like wolves. They trained daily, either running or lifting heavy bags over and over and drilling in open fields.

  The aide assigned to Leberecht had the unfortunate habit of sharpening his bayonet and his ax outside of Leberecht’s tent flap to start every day. Leberecht woke on the fourth morning after his arrival to the main army and found the Kurakin grinning up at him over a gleaming ax blade once again.

  “Good morning, sir,” the Kurakin said.

  At least they had given Leberecht someone who spoke the northern language well enough.

  Leberecht’s stomach grumbled. He’d finished the last of the cured meats he’d carried with him from Citiva the night before and he now dreaded having to survive on the diet of the Kurakin army until more of the Moradan army arrived.

  “Breakfast, sir?” The Kurakin stood and swung his ax with a thunk down into a stump that was extremely close to Leberecht’s left leg.

  The aide walked over to the fire and boiling pot around the side of the tent. “We have stew.”

  “What kind of stew?” Leberecht had to talk louder over the sound of his stomach. He smacked it to see if it would quiet down any. It didn’t.

  “Rabbit. With prak.”

  “With what?” Leberecht leaned over the pot as the aide picked up the ladle.

  “Oh. Um. Prak, that is… Um…”

  Leberecht watched the contents of the pot as they were lifted up and stirred by the aide’s ladle.

  “Vegetables?”

  “Yes, that’s it! Vegetels!”

  The Kurakin was close enough. Leberecht didn’t feel like correcting his pronunciation.

  “Thank you,” Leberecht said as he took a bowl of the stew from the aide. He dug into the breakfast immediately before his stomach could start screaming again.

  “I’d thought you might prefer something a little more cooked than our normal breakfast,” a new voice said.

  Leberecht turned to find Mikhail walking around an adjacent tent. The Kurakin held a bundle of papers in one hand and his eyes were too bright and full of energy for the early hour, in Leberecht’s opinion.

  “Thank you, Mikhail. That was very thoughtful of you.”

  Leberecht went back to the pot to top off his serving of stew and then walked with Mikhail as the Kurakin motioned for Leberecht to follow him down the rows of tents. They passed a pack of soldiers heading the other direction. Every one of these Kurakin carried a heavy-looking trident on their shoulders and laughed among themselves as they moved off towards the edge of the camp.

  Leberecht almost asked what the unit was off to do but then thought better of it. He’d learned that it was better to not ask questions around the Kurakin army, as the answers were often terrifying.

  “The generals should already be gathered. They’ll want news of your Moradan troops.” Mikhail turned and took them towards the command area at the very center of the Kurakin camp.

  “Certainly,” Leberecht said through one of his last bits of stew.

  He’d been unaware there was a strategy meeting. Luckily he’d caught up on his letters the night before and could now be more focused on the army’s campaign against Rapp.

  “And no news of the Erlonian princess from Duroc?” Leberecht said as they approached the command tent.

  “Nothing new.”

  Leberecht nodded. He’d been hoping for some good news from the west regarding the princess, but so far nothing had arrived.

  The pair reached the command area and found the officers standing around a fire in the center of a circle of tents. There was a large tent for the lead general, a Kurakin shorter than Leberecht would’ve imagined a Kurakin general to be but with very mean-looking eyes.

  “Mikhail, Leberecht. Good, we can get started now,” the general said as the pair arrived. He turned back to the others around him. “We’ll all speak the northern language since we have allies present. Speak up if you don’t understand something.”

  Leberecht finished slurping up the last of his stew and nodded his thanks to the general.

  There were no campaign maps and the general didn’t give a grand speech. Leberecht had a hard time following the discussion, as the general and his officers appeared to already have numerous plans in motion. After a few minutes of being lost, Leberecht found it hard to focus.

  His stomach grumbled up at him. He restrained from smacking it again. This was why he preferred politics to war—it was much easier to understand the strategies at play during a summit meeting compared to this.

  “What is the latest from the Moradans?”

  Leberecht jumped and cleared his throat as the group’s attention turned back to him. “Marching at a good pace. They’re on the Vitha road and should be here in three days or less.”

  “Good.”

  “They’re moving fast and we’ll need them. King Rapp won’t sit in Vith very long. He’ll want to attack and push us south.”

  The general nodded. He tugged at his long beard and looked down in thought. “I understand. That timing works perfectly, actually.”

  Another officer said something in the Kurakin language. It sounded like nothing but grunts to Leberecht’s ears. The general nodded in response and grunted something back.

  “You’ve given them an idea,” Mikhail whispered to Leberecht.

  “I have?” Leberecht looked to the men but still could make nothing from their conversation or facial expressions.

  The Kurakin general spoke to a few of his officers in turn. He finally switched back to the northern language to address the entire group. “Keep with your movements. We break camp tomorrow with the main force.”

  They were going to break camp? Leberecht had assumed they would sit in this current position and let King Rapp attack and be pulled south. Where were the Kurakin going?

  The general turned back to Leberecht. “We must write to the Moradans and tell them to cross the Vitha at Bratiz. You can help me draft the language.”

  “Cross to the north?” Leberecht’s mouth hung open. That didn’t make any sense to him. Why would they want their army north of the ri
ver and in open Wahrian territory?

  “Yes. We must move quickly.” The Kurakin general was shifting side to side in his stance. He looked like he was ready to spring into a fight right that instant. “My forces will be in place tomorrow. And you’re right, the boy king will attack soon.”

  “Where are you going?” Leberecht needed a map. He needed markers for the armies on this campaign, especially if the Horde was changing plans on the fly. Even when the Kurakin general was speaking the northern language, it was hard to follow him.

  The Kurakin general spoke with his other officers again and some of them dispersed. He turned back to Leberecht.

  “We’re spreading out. The army will relocate and be ready.” The general smiled at Leberecht. His remaining officers mirrored the expression behind him and Leberecht had to stifle a shudder at the rows of fanged teeth pointed in his direction.

  “You’re right, the Wahrians will be aggressive,” the general said. “And they’ll walk right into our trap.”

  Elisa

  Elisa hadn’t thought it possible for her legs to become more sore, but as the days stretched on and the group continued to trek through the hills, she began to contemplate a further meaning of pain.

  She kept her discomfort inside, though. It was what Lauriston was doing. It was what all the still-injured soldiers were doing. It was what Mon, the oldest among them, would want her to do.

  She had to be strong. These men were here to protect her, to get her to safety. The least she could do was to not complain about something as silly as a rash on her leg from her saddle.

  “We’ll work on another turn next,” Lodi said from the horse next to her. “You’ve about got the first one down.”

  The group was in their normal positions. Lauriston and Mon at the front of a long trail of horses. Elisa in the center surrounded by the Jinetes.

  She’d been sparring with Lodi most of their recent evenings. It took all of her strength to not collapse after the day’s journey, let alone lift her sword arm and step lightly through the Lakmian fighting moves he taught her. But Elisa wanted to keep training. She needed to keep improving.