The Fall of Erlon

by Robert H Fleming

  Contents

  Title Page

  Map of The Continent

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Further reading in The Falling Empires Saga!

  A Request

  About the Author

  Copyright

  The Fall of Erlon

  By

  Robert H. Fleming

  Map of the Continent

  For a detailed map of the world of The Fall of Erlon, visit https://roberthfleming.com/home/fantasy-maps/

  Prologue

  Which is worse? To never know great power and absolute mastery? Or to rise to the pinnacle of the Ascended One himself before collapsing and falling back to ground in a smoldering heap?

  The only man on the Continent to know that answer for certain is the Emperor of Imperial Erlon, Gerald Lannes.

  Tome of the Emperor

  Nelson Wellesley

  Nelson

  His Royal Highness, King Nelson of Brun, climbed the stairs to the main deck and walked through the sailors hustling about in the wind and spitting rain. His coat swept about him and he moved with precision over the deck as it rolled with the swells of the sea. He went to the starboard and looked out over the shadows of the early evening. The outline of their destination broke the horizon.

  Taul.

  The island was a cliff jutting from the sea. A fortress rose from the top of the rock and appeared carved directly from the stone by centuries of wind and rain and salt. It was a cold and desolate place, full of old legends and stories of magic within its walls. The remote island was famous and rarely visited.

  And it now held the most famous prisoner in all the world.

  The ship tacked around the jagged rocks that guarded the island’s port. A sweeping shadow passed under the ship, and Nelson shuddered at the visions of monsters roaming the depths of the vast ocean.

  The king went below and prepared. He shaved, timing the swipes of his straight razor with the rolls of the ship, and combed his hair before changing into his dress jacket. To look like he’d been sailing for weeks would be rude to the audience that awaited him.

  The howling of the wind was cut off by the walls of the port, and Nelson knew they’d successfully navigated the treacherous rocks into port. He was thankful for this crew. He’d chosen well from the royal navy.

  The king disembarked first. The crew would unload and bring his things up later. His legs wobbled on the solid stones after being at sea for so long. He smiled at the feeling and nodded respectfully to the sailors and guards who stood at attention by the stairs up to the fortress.

  He started the long ascent and shivered under his coat in the stairwell as he climbed. It was damp and the air had a cold bite, even when protected from the wind. Taul was a Brunian territory but sat far to the country’s south, and the ocean winds brought clouds and rain and cold up from the arctic lands of Kura.

  The prisoner should count himself lucky. Exile was the least of the evils that could’ve been bestowed on him after his capture.

  Though this fortress was quite the choice for a prison.

  The Brunian king reached the top of the climb and was greeted by a raging fire in the fortress foyer along with a welcome guard. Nelson shuddered under his coat as the warmth floated over to him.

  “Welcome, Your Highness,” said the first guard. “Your quarters are this way, at the top of the keep.”

  More stairs. Grand.

  Luckily, Nelson had an excuse to avoid them for now.

  “Actually, may I presume the emperor is still awake?”

  The guard frowned. “Yes, sir.”

  “Then I will go and see him now,” Nelson said. “My men can oversee my things.”

  “Yes, sir.” The guard gestured towards a shadowy hallway. “This way, sir. The emperor’s in his study.”

  “Have someone make sure the crew below gets a good meal, they’ve earned it.”

  “Yes, sir,” another guard said.

  Nelson turned away and followed the first guard through the entrance hall and into the depths of the keep, where the ceilings were low and lit by torches. The ancient construction of this fortress had not been focused on comfort.

  They reached a door and the guard turned the doorknob before bowing to the king. Nelson stepped inside and found a smoky room lined with shelves, each stuffed with books. A desk stood in front of him and held a burning lamp. Opposite the desk was a fireplace with two chairs positioned in front. On one of these chairs sat the former emperor of the entire world.

  Nelson stepped forward and shut the door behind him. “Emperor Lannes.”

  The fire backlit the scene. Smoke from the pipe swirled about the dark figure and his head turned slightly. He reached up and removed the pipe from his mouth.

  “Visitors are so few and far between here.” The emperor’s voice was soft, but carried the length of the room easily. A strength shown through the tone, even in simple conversation. “But when the guards told me it was you that was coming, I became intrigued indeed.”

  “I hope I’m not a burden or trouble.”

  “Not at all,” Lannes said. “But if you were, would I have a say in the matter?”

  “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

  The emperor stood and stepped forward. His features found the dim light for the first time. A strong jawline on a small head. Only the right side of his mouth turned up in the smile he gave Nelson as they shook hands. “Your Highness, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Lannes was taller than Nelson, but not as broad. His hair and eyes were dark, like most Erlonians, and his face was starting to show the wear of living through many triumphs and defeats. He was still under forty-five, not too much older than Nelson, but his skin was starting to betray more years than it owned.

  “Come, sit. I hope my study is comfortable for you,” Lannes said. There wasn’t a bow. No royal formalities beyond the first “Your Highness.”

  Nelson followed the imprisoned emperor and took the chair opposite him by the fire. The firelight shone on Lannes’s face as he sat, and Nelson saw even more lines of aging. The man was weathered, certainly compared to the regal portraits Nelson had seen years ago, but there was still a spark behind the former emperor’s eyes. His mind remained intact despite the loss of his armies and palaces.

  The emperor picked up his pipe and puffed on it. New smoke swirled up towards the ceiling. He lifted a second pipe off the table next to his chair and offered it across the gap between them.

  Nelson shook his head politely.

  The second pipe was set back down next to a thick book. Nelson recognized it immediately and tilted his head in surprise.

  “Not religious, are we?” Lannes raised his eyebrows at Nelson’s reaction to the book.

  “Not particularly.” Nelson regained his composure and sat up straight. He shot a grin at Lannes. “Don’t tell my subjects.”

  “I think your secrets are safe with me and this island
.” Lannes’s right-sided grin widened to a full smile. He reached over and brought the book up in front of him. He turned it over and looked at both sides of the thick cover. “I go back to it often. There are a lot of military maxims. Useful in my old line of work.”

  “I guess that’s true. I’ve never thought of them that way.” Nelson rested his chin on one of his hands. His head felt heavy and congested from the long travel. But his thoughts were coming alive. There was too much potential to learn from the man in front of him to get groggy now.

  The emperor set the book back on the table and looked into the fire. The chair’s back dwarfed his tall frame, making him look like a child sitting on the favorite seat of his father for the first time.

  “Is your library to your satisfaction?” Nelson said.

  The emperor looked around at all the books.

  “Oh, yes. Your volumes are over there.” He pointed over Nelson’s right shoulder. “Although I’ve read them many times. Long before I was sent here.”

  “Thank you for the flattery. It was easy writing them as a prince, before the burdens of the nation were on my shoulders.”

  Lannes stood and walked to the other side of the desk. His boots clacked on the stones of the floor and echoed in the room. “I enjoy your history of your country’s civil war the most, especially the second volume.”

  “A dreadful part of our history, but one that needed to be recorded.” Nelson stayed seated and watched Lannes through the haze in the room.

  “The interviews with your country’s veteran generals were fascinating.” Lannes picked out one book and opened it at random. He walked back to his own chair while flicking through the pages.

  Nelson didn’t respond. He watched the emperor resume his seat, close the book, and set it on top of the religious tome already on the table.

  Lannes looked up at the king. “Which brings us to ‘Why?’”

  “Why?” Nelson raised his eyebrows.

  “The reclusive scholar-king has come to visit the defeated emperor.” Lannes’s expression remained set. Nelson felt as if the emperor was trying to look straight through him. “Why?”

  Nelson tried to keep a grin from forming on his face. Lannes certainly did cut to the chase. The king forced his voice to remain level. “To study you, naturally.”

  “Me?” Lannes turned his hand to point the pipe stem back at his chest. The shadows threw darkness over one side of his expression.

  Nelson nodded. “You conquered the Continent, destroyed numerous dynastic families. Conquered armies and countries thought unconquerable—”

  “And then lost it all.”

  Nelson stopped. A frank answer for a topic so heavy.

  The emperor leaned back in his chair and kept his eyes on Nelson.

  The king pursed his lips. “And then lost it all, yes. Fascinating material, don’t you think?”

  The emperor thought for a second before giving a single shrug. He glanced at the fire and back at Nelson. “You don’t think it’s premature?”

  “Premature?”

  Lannes held his hands out to either side and gave a smile. “I’m still here. There remains more story to unfold.”

  “Your life has stories that merit a thousand books. That’s enough already, don’t you think?”

  “True, but there’s always more to come. I could return to power, you know.”

  Nelson stopped again. The emperor was smiling, but the idea of Lannes returning to the Continent and reclaiming the conquering armies of Erlon sent a chill along Nelson’s spine.

  Lannes leaned forward. “You called me emperor when you came in, you know,” he said. “I don’t think your subjects would like that.”

  “It was the Wahrians that removed your titles, not Brun. It’s semantics, but respect is given where it’s due.” Nelson came out of his trance and waved away the emperor’s comments. He smiled, hoping it would show Lannes how ridiculous the notion of his return to power was.

  Lannes sat back, the chair’s back swallowing him once more. “Not much of a title without an army to lead, I suppose. Emperor of Taul is a lot less intimidating.”

  Nelson allowed the next silence to sit between them. He wanted the emperor to think. Behind the dark eyes the spark was moving about, working, thinking. The chill of fear that moments before had shocked Nelson turned to a thrill.

  His thoughts surged. There was a rush of energy despite the late hour. His hand itched to write pages and pages of notes, and his mouth wanted to shout all the questions he had for this man all at once.

  Famous historical figures often had this effect on Nelson, even after he’d ascended to his father’s throne. But sitting with Lannes was different somehow. The feeling seemed stronger, and the discussion had barely even started.

  Nelson now understood what the Erlonian historians had described when they said Lannes had the gift of silence.

  The pipe went back to the emperor’s mouth. His lips tightened on the wood before opening again. “I’m to be a subject of a book, then?”

  “Yes.”

  A very important book, Nelson thought. One that could save us all.

  “The Horde is farther north than it’s ever been,” Emperor Lannes said.

  And you’ve fought them more than anyone, Nelson thought.

  “Wahring is reforming, demanding expansion,” Lannes said.

  And you’ve defeated them.

  “Morada is back to its scheming ways.”

  And you’re the master diplomat.

  “Brun is surrounded by dangerous friends, and angry enemies.”

  And that’s why we need a strong ally. The strongest possible.

  “And you want to write a book about me? The one who blew everything up?”

  The king reached down and pulled a pen and paper pad out of his bag. The emperor didn’t object. He stayed motionless in his chair and stared back at Nelson.

  Nelson set an ink jar on the side table and looked back up. Lannes seemed larger now, as if the discussion was strengthening him. Nelson had piqued his interest. He couldn’t resist Nelson’s offer.

  “Things aren’t over. Many battles are still to come,” Lannes said.

  Nelson didn’t respond. He dipped his pen in the ink, noted the date at the top of a clean sheet of paper, and looked up at the emperor.

  Lannes nodded but spoke before Nelson could ask his first question.

  “If we discuss my past, I want to discuss the present as well.” The emperor pressed his hands together in front of him and leaned forward. “I want to know what’s happening with the war on the Continent.”

  “Certainly.” King Nelson set his pen down on the parchment. It made sense the emperor would be starved for information on current events. His empire collapsed, his friends fought the end of the war, and he was far away in exile. “What do you want to know?”

  Emperor Lannes turned his head and looked into the fire. His eyes glistened in the firelight, a hint of sadness on an otherwise stoic face.

  The emperor spoke softly, the strength of his words from earlier gone completely. He turned and looked the king in the eye. “What news of my daughter in the capital? Is she safe?”

  Chapter 1

  To his enemies, Emperor Lannes was demon reincarnate. To his family, a source of warmth. To battlefields, a master. And to his friends, he was nothing but loyal.

  A Marshal’s Memoir

  Alexandre Lauriston

  Elisa

  Elisa Lannes, Princess of Erlon, hauled the dead stag down the road. She’d been dragging it along the dirt for most of the way. Now she bent and hoisted it up on her shoulders and staggered slightly under the weight and moved towards the farmhouse.

  Sweat dripped down her forehead even with the fall chill in the afternoon air. The farmer Montholon was on the front porch of the main house when she passed.

  “Quite a kill today,” he said.

  “Only four points, but he’s heavy.” Elisa dropped the beast back to the ground.

&nbs
p; “I can see that,” Mon said. “We could’ve come and helped, you know.”

  Elisa didn’t answer. She wiped the sweat off her face and realized all she was doing was spreading dirt to more places on her cheeks and forehead.

  Mon chuckled and took a long pull from his bottle. The man was always drinking, even this early in the morning. Elisa had sneaked a taste from the farmer’s bottles when she’d first been brought to the farm. The red liquid had burned her throat on the way down and made her cough. Mon drank it like water.

  “How far’d you go to bag him?”

  “Not far,” Elisa said. “Edge of the eastern field.”

  Mon looked at her over his bottle as if waiting to see if a better truth would appear. After a few beats, he shook his head. “East is fine. But don’t go too far. And don’t you run off south, even after a buck.” Mon pointed off towards the forest south of the farmhouse. “Those cannon shots coming from Plancenoit aren’t your father’s army practicing.”

  She was surprised to feel the flush in her cheeks after Mon’s comments. She thought she had her emotions well in check. But the mention of Plancenoit and her father had been enough to break some of her barriers.

  Erlon was defeated. Elisa’s family broken. Her mother gone. Her father exiled half the world away. Her home about to fall to the Kurakin Horde.

  And Elisa was stuck on some worthless farm.

  Mon took another pull from his bottle. Elisa stooped down and lifted the stag up on her shoulders again. The motion was more to keep her mind off the memories of her father and what was to become of the nearby capital than anything. Her muscles still screamed at her for more rest.

  She almost stumbled on the last steps to the barn door. She held strong and let her mind rage with her thoughts as fuel for the final few feet.

  What did Mon know of her father? What could this farmer possibly know about the Erlonian royals?

  And what did he know of the army? The rumblings of those cannons attacking Elisa’s home was the closest he’d ever been to a war.