Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1) (12 page)

Next to Piamer
sat Arkon, the Lorekeeper, and Taniden, the Seer. Arkon was in charge of
cataloging and archiving the Tearanei people’s history, traditions, and
knowledge. Taniden came from a long line of gifted seers—a trait that grants
magical farsight and the powers of prophecy. He was the one who foretold of
Taverous’ arrival even before he entered the volcano.

Ritak cleared
his throat, flexed his arms across his chest, and slowly looked around the
room, “If the Council permits, I would like to go with Taverous. If this evil
is as powerful as he thinks, then it is only a matter of time before it comes
to us. And as our protector, it is my duty to go with him.” He finished his
words with a nod to the Ancient and a dramatic pat against his scabbard. “My
blade will prove valuable.”

“Well, as much
as I would love to have you alongside me in a fight, you are needed here. If I
fail, the Council must unite to face whatever this is. I would prefer it if you
could pick a small group of men, two or three of your best, and I will take
them with me to the island and sort this entire thing out.”

Vorem nodded,
his elder status clearly showing in the wrinkles that he bore with pride. “We
will seriously consider your warning and will now discuss how to proceed,” he
motioned for Taverous to exit the room.

Taverous bowed
to the council and then left them to themselves. Being away from his people for
so long had changed their relationship. They ceased to show him the trust and
reverence they once had. He was an outsider of sorts, no longer privileged to
their inner discussions.

*
* *

The door
closed, and Vorem turned to Piamer and Arkon, “You two didn’t say much. What
are your feelings on this?”

“Well, I want
to know why we didn’t tell him about Taniden’s dream?” Arkon pushed away from
the table, disgust flaring in his golden eyes.

Piamer pulled
back his hood and shook his head, tapping his finger on the table. “No…no…we
are not even sure of what Taniden saw. His seeings are sometimes skewed and
placing that kind of doubt in Taverous’ mind will only cloud his judgment. I
think we should give him the best men we can offer and wait to see what he uncovers.”

“I still don’t
like hiding anything from our Ancient. What if the evil on that island is, in
fact, the Dark One? What if he
wants
Taverous to come straight to him?”

“We cannot
fret over the possibilities of what this may or may not be. Additionally, if
this turns out to be the nightmare you think it to be...” Piamer folded his
hands in front of him. “They have unfinished business.”

The five continued
talking through the night and came out shortly after dawn. Ritak, Vorem, and
Taniden agreed with Piamer, and Arkon begrudgingly settled with them after many
hours of arguing the situation.

Taverous was
leaning back in a soft chair, asleep, but quickly rose when hearing the
Council. “Well? What have you decided?”

Vorem stood
forward, “We will pick you a group of our very best, and you may leave with
them as soon as you wish.”

Taverous gave
a short bow, “I thank you for your help.”

The wagon
creaked and rattled down the backcountry road. They were away from Hillsford
for not even a full day now, and Rurik already wished this horrid mission had
been given to someone else. Saris wanted his fiancé and baby safe in the
capital, but Rurik was better qualified for the war he would miss, than this
prolonged, babysitting job.

The woman, whom
he thought was going to be such a delight, had not spoken a word or even looked
in his direction. She rode up front with him the whole time so far and managed
to keep to herself—the boredom. Occasionally, the little baby would whine about
something and she would chirp sweet things in his ear and feed or change him.
He was actually quite a calm baby, not like Rurik had many experiences with
children to make a comparison, but he seemed to be on the good side.

Rurik said the
first words of the trip, “The sun is starting to set. We will stop here for the
night.” They pulled off the road into a large clearing. “If I’m correct, there
is a nice watering hole over that hill.” He pointed, and she nodded.

He reined in
the horses and growled some orders to the men, putting them into action. They
started setting up Amira’s tent first, and she quickly resigned for the night,
without waiting for supper. Rurik could finally get Klaric out of his hiding
spot. He would be cramped and bitchy as hell, and Rurik knew he would have to
talk the situation over with the woman in the morning. He did not plan to have
Klaric spend the next day in hiding again.

Galro started
a fire and helped Gleb serve dinner, a meaty stew, that was casting off smells
to make a man’s mouth water and stomach growl. Rurik really liked the way the
two worked together. Galro was a good enough man to put aside the fact that
Gleb was officially a Harmite slave and treat him like a friend.

Galro was only
the young slave’s senior by five summers—they could be brothers. Gleb was
nineteen, Aamin’s age. Damn, Rurik missed him. Gleb actually had a striking
resemblance to his deceased brother and could maybe pass as him, if not for his
slave brandings.

“Did you
really have to hit every hole in the road?” complained Klaric, stretching his
limbs.

“Would you
lower your voice?” Rurik whispered, harshly. “I haven’t talked to her about you
yet.”

“Hell! It
doesn’t matter, not like you are going to take me back if she objects to me
staying. She needs to be told and get over it.” Klaric ripped a piece of bread
from the loaf and sopped up the last of his stew. “Damn, slave boy, that was
good.”

Galro gave him
a disapproving look.

“What? Now we
are all lovey-dovey with the slaves? What did I miss while I was in jail?”
Klaric looked to Rurik.

“Cool it,”
Rurik said, walking over to the water bucket to clean out his bowl. “You are
just pissy from the day’s ride. Get some sleep.” He ducked into his tent.

Gleb glared at
Klaric from his seat on the other side of the fire. Galro doused out the flames
and motioned for Gleb to follow him to the tent they were sharing, leaving
Klaric alone in the dark.

“Guess I’ll go
to sleep!” He yelled, sarcastically. Kicking his boots off, he lied down under
the stars and slowly fell asleep.

*
* *

Amira yawned
awake and rolled over on her side, looking at baby Archaos, fast asleep in a
nest of blankets beside her. She reached out and played with the few wispy,
black hairs on his head, then ran her finger down along his soft cheek. Such a
beautiful baby boy, she thought, as he wiggled, semiconscious.

“Let’s go
check out that watering hole the Corporal was talking about,” She said, talking
to herself more than the baby.

She slipped on
a light robe from her luggage and swaddled the baby so he would be able to rest
comfortably if she decided to put him down for a moment and get in the water.
She poked her head out of the tent. It was a foggy morning. The sun had come up
slightly, but the dense clouds dulled its effect. She didn’t hear any of the
men, and if that crabby stowaway were awake, she would surely hear him.

Amira had
purposefully stayed in her tent, quietly awake for a time, before falling
asleep. She didn’t really care that he was with them, who could blame someone
for wanting to get as far away as possible from a coming fight. The Corporal
must be friends with him, for doing something behind Saris’ back like that, but
they sure didn’t seem very friendly to each other last night.

She started
off in the direction that he had pointed. Archaos was now awake, and quietly
looking at her.
Such dark eyes, like his father.
Amira moved through the
trees, toward a faint sound of trickling water. Should be close, she thought.
Soon she reached the water, and the man had utterly misrepresented the place by
calling it a watering hole—it was a lake!

She found a
nice spot to put the baby down, so he was visible from the water. After
checking once again if she could hear anyone around, she slipped off her robe
to get in. It was cold, but soon her body acclimated to the temperature. The
baby looked relaxed, so she swam a little way out, still keeping him in sight.

She floated on
her back, using her hand to gently twirl her body in the water.
How long
will I feel free, like in this very moment?
A forced marriage to a man like
Saris was definitely not how she envisioned her youthful, dreamt up life. But,
she was so attached to the baby now, that
maybe
she could go through with
this for his sake, feeling that she was protecting him from a cruel fate.

She heard the
sounds of a waterfall nearby and waded through a tall patch of reeds. It opened
into a pool under some trickling falls. A rock had been worn into a small
basin, before flowing over into the main body of water. She carefully climbed
out, wanting to get into the natural tub and, right when she was completely
exposed, the Corporal, unclothed, rounded the corner of a large boulder. Both,
caught off guard, quickly covered themselves and turned their backs to each
other.

“I…I…I’m
sorry, m’lady,” Rurik said, stuttering in embarrassment.

She could feel
her cheeks going red.

She didn’t hear
anyone coming. Unconsciously, and surprising herself, she did a quick second
glance at the man over her shoulder, before scampering off toward the baby and,
more importantly, her robe.

*
* *

Rurik cursed
and hit his fist against the rock. He waited longer than necessary for her to
move away, before turning around. Embarrassed, he didn’t feel like swimming anymore.
He grabbed his clothes and started back to camp. The long way.

He heard
voices coming from camp.
That has to be Galro and Gleb starting to tear down
camp, too early for Klaric to get up on his own
. He hoped Amira made it
back to camp safely without being disturbed any further.

“Would you two
stop making so much damn noise?”

That was
Klaric.

Rurik reached
the camp. Klaric was turning and twisting on the ground by the burnt out fire,
clearly trying not to get up, while the other men were packing up everything
around him. Rurik glanced over at Amira’s tent and thought he heard noise from
inside.
Good, she made it back before him and hopefully before the others
were awake.

 “Sir, we are
close to being ready.” Galro jog over to Rurik, handing him a biscuit and a
piece of dried ham for breakfast.

Rurik
swallowed down a bite and nodded. “Very good. I want to try and reach Barrow’s
crossing by sundown. We have a long way to go. The goal is to reach Dartholme by
the time the Merkadian Army reaches Hillsford, that gives us six days. We will
be close enough to the capital by then, to not worry about any stray enemies
from the north.”

Amira emerged
from her tent. She walked to the wagon with her luggage in hand, passing them
without saying a word. Suddenly, Rurik realized that she was walking directly
toward Klaric. He hadn’t found the time to talk to her about him.

She stopped
next to him, leaned down, and shouted, “Time to get up!”

Klaric jumped,
got his feet tangled in the blankets, and awkwardly falling forward into the
dirt.

“What the
hell, woman!” Klaric struggled to get his legs free and stumbled after her.

Rurik shook
his head and looked at Galro. “This is going to be a long trip, Private.”

*
* *

After a time,
the wagon lurched forward, back onto the main road—on to the next stop. A man
stepped out from the foliage, still mostly hidden by shadows, followed by a
second, who stood off to his side. The first was well dressed and young, in his
early twenties. The second was rough and scarred, with a black patch over one
of his eyes, and a good ten years older.

“It Looks like
father’s information was correct,” The younger one said, “He will be most pleased
to find that Saris’ heir and bride ride with but a few soldiers and a useless
slave. This should be easy for you, Krul. We will make sure that any new information
we receive is forwarded directly you. You know where our setups are at. Check
in often. Wait for the go ahead.” He turned to the scruffy fighter and eyed him
sternly. “Don’t mess this up.”

Krul nodded
and, with a whistle, called a black stallion from the trees. He mounted and
took off after the wagon, trailing them from afar.

While Rurik
was leading his group south, toward the capital, the Merkadian and Kitamite
escapees from the half-accomplished execution were headed north, to meet their
brothers-in-arms. But, they wouldn’t be away from Hillsford for long, rejoining
with the army would bring them right back. They needed to warn Melidarius of
Jol’s treasonous volunteering of information.

The group of
men ran, walked, stumbled, and climbed for miles. Dageros had to use copies of
himself to help them over obstacles a number of times. Kaillum headed the
group, keeping a torturous pace, never stopping for more than two hours at a
time. He had spent his last night in the city mapping out their escape, and had
his own plan to free them, but what ended up happening worked out well—probably
better.

They were now
within the border of Kilgar, traveling to cut off the Merkadian forces. King
Melidarius and his head officer, General Vyker, needed to know that Saris was
still alive and, no doubt, preparing for the defense of Hillsford, the
geographical gateway to the Talurian Empire.

The most
direct route to the capital city.

The group
reached the Black River—a deep, rocky, twisting abyss of water. The Merkadian
army would be traveling wide around the river, as to avoid the unforgiving
waters, but if Kaillum and company could find a way across, it would be the
shortcut they needed to rejoin the army.

The river had
claimed many Kilgarians over the years, till they developed specially built
rafts to cross, always making sure to secure them to their own side of the
river—an extremely effective natural defense for the primitive people. The
Talurians would have swallowed their tribe years ago if it wasn’t for that
river.

“We will stop
here for the night,” Kaillum said. He threw down his heavy pack and searched
the surrounding area for dried wood to start a fire. “We can try to find a safe
place to cross in the morning.”

After finding
only a few logs worthy of a fire, the bull of a man, Ryon, offered to chop down
a nearby tree. Kaillum wondered if the noise would alert someone to their
location, but he didn’t suspect anyone to still be following.

The gentle, night
breeze danced across the water, putting a chill to the air and, before long,
the fire was going, and the four men were nestled around the pit, wrapped in
heavy blankets. They all fell quickly to their body’s call for sleep. The first
real calm since leaving the city.

*
* *

Light shown
through Kaillum’s eyelids, stirring him from his sleep.

He pulled
himself to a seated position. The fire had all but died out, but the sun was
starting to creep over the far off mountains. He looked out across the river, squinting
in the direction of the light. It moved closer, off the far bank and out into
the water. Ceth and Dageros slept to either side of him; he shook each awake.

Ryon was to
his feet with a sword in hand the second he heard the other men’s movement. The
man moved with incredible speed for someone his size. He was first to the
water’s edge, his hand shading his eyes.

“What is it?”
Dag narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t
know.” Ceth and Kaillum said in unison.

Ryon anxiously
held his sword at his side. “It reeks of magic to me,” He growled.

“And you can
smell magic?” Dag sarcastically asked, as one of his copies snuck up and
smacked Ryon on the shoulder.

The huge man
spun around, swinging his sword wildly in the air.

Dageros nearly
fell down laughing, “Didn’t smell that one did you!”

Ryon glared at
the boy, cursing at him under his breath.

While the young
man laughed at his own prank, Kaillum and Ceth lowered their weapons and fell
to the ground.

“Hey! Hey!”
Dag sprinted over to his brother and slide to the ground next to him, trying to
shake him awake.

Ryon crouched
down and checked their pulses, “They’re alive, just unconscious.” He stood to
his feet and grabbed Dag by his shoulder, pulling him along. “Someone or
something has put them to sleep. We need to move back. Get to the trees.”

Dag resisted
his urge to argue and followed Ryon back up the bank of the river and into the
tree line. There was a greater chance to save them, once they knew what they were
up against.

The light got
so close to the southern side of the river that Ceth and Kaillum were
completely hidden from sight. As the light moved onto dry land, it slowly
faded, revealing four men, walking across the water.

One was making
a strange, circler motion in the air with his hands. A glittering light pulsed
out from underneath him, casting an aura that lay under each man’s feet. The
water seemed to harden right when their feet touched down, allowing them to
casually walk across the unrelenting Black River.

Dageros
studied the men.

Three of them
looked a lot like himself and his brother, with the ridge along their head and
glowing eyes, but without the hair. Other than his own family, he had never
seen anyone else like him. The fourth man was more normal looking and
significantly older. He wore an intimidating set of armor, with an, even more,
intimidating sword at his side. The blade looked made of ice, with flames
flickering up and down the edge.

He was the
first to speak. “Check them. Make sure they are alright.”

The one who
had worked them across the water knelt down beside Kaillum and Ceth. “Resting
comfortably, Master.”

The old one
scanned the tree line. He was clearly the leader among them.

“I can sense
another one,” he said, “This trip is taking an unexpected turn. This one…” he
pointed to Kaillum. “And the other one watching us from the trees are both
Tearanei… but not entirely.” His voice trailed off, deep in thought.

The other two
men took defensive positions around him.

Dag was
trembling. That man was able to sense where he was. He had to strike now. Ryon,
reading his body language, shook his head, but Dag couldn’t help it. He ran from
their cover, casting multiple copies of himself, with Ryon following and
grunting behind him.

Dag and his
copies blasted out of the trees, charging the attackers.

The old one
nonchalantly waved his hand, and all seven copies evaporated into the air,
leaving the two men stopped, stunned and hesitant, seeing that they were
obviously no match for these strangers. They kept their weapons poised, ready
to defend against an attack, but none came.

The group
seemed completely at ease. They didn’t even rest their hands close to their
weapons.

 The leader
moved toward Dageros and Ryon, pushing between his guardians.

“Please, we
mean no harm.” He smiled.

“What did you
do to my brother?”

“My friend put
them to sleep,” He replied, “It was meant for all of you, but you two were
having some kind of squabble and, as he cast the spell, moved out of reach.”

Ryon snarled,
“Told you it was magic.”

The old man
ignored him. “My name is Taverous, and my traveling partners are Arclite, the
warrior…” He nodded to the tall, athletically built man, wearing a silver-blue
platemail suit, which covered every inch of his body. Only his hauntingly alert
eyes were visible through the grated helmet. The armor was clearly one of a
kind—sleek and custom fitted to his exact size and shape.  Across his back lay
two long, slender swords.

Taverous then pointed
to the man who had been working to get them across the water, “Mathis, a priest
of Dar’jaal.” He was wrapped in a heavy brown robe, embellished with inlays and
symbols. He resonated out a serene manner. His arms crossed in front of him,
hidden by his long sleeves.

“And lastly,”
Taverous said, “We have, Lasal, the seer.” The man was wearing a forester type
outfit—Leather tunic and trousers, good boots, a wide band tied around his
forehead, and a long rider’s coat over his shoulders. He leaned on a staff that
looked well-worn and he no doubt knew how to defend himself with it. Small
throwing daggers and vials of strangely-colored substances dotted his costume,
leaving to guess what else was secreted away.

“They are
Tearanei, like you.” Taverous pointed to Dag.

Dag had a
confused look on his face. “Tearanei?” He questioned, “My name is Dageros,
Captain of Merkadia. I’m sorry, but you are mistaken. I am of Merkadia.”

Taverous decided
to not press the matter for now. “And you, the big one?”

Ryon was
starting to relax, “My name is Ryon. I am a warrior of Kitam.”

“And what
about these two?” Taverous walked back over to Kaillum and Ceth, who were sound
asleep on the ground.

“That is my
older brother, Kaillum,” answered Dag. “But you probably already guessed we
were related. Before seeing you three…” he nodded toward Arclite, Mathis, and Lasal,
“I’d never seen anyone like myself, outside my own family.”

“And the other
is, Ceth,” Ryon finally put his sword away. “He is my Commander and leader of
our tribe.”

“How did you
end up together? Three captains and a soldier running through the middle of
nowhere. There has got to be a fantastic story behind that.”

“
Fantastic
might not be the best word for it,” Dag laughed. “But whatever you want to call
it, it’s a long one.”

Taverous sat
down, “Well we have time.”

He motioned to
the sleeping men. “They won’t be awake for a little and even you can’t go very
long carrying them.” Taverous grinned at Ryon.

*
* *

Taverous paced
back and forth, nodding to himself, “Yes, yes. This must have something to do
with why I am here. The day I had my vision, there was a darkness so daunting,
yet familiar. The cloud that represented the evil in my dream was covering the
southern part of the island, which is why we have crossed paths. It seems this
Talurian Empire that your people are at war with may be the reason behind the
darkness, or at the very least, be involved with it.”

The men had
sat down together and, over the last hour, Dag and Ryon recounted the events of
the last couple of weeks: The new war that had started on the island. The many
sides involved. The failed assassination attempt, and why they were in such a
hurry to reach their army.

Taverous
continued, telling them more of his background, trying to make them believe in
his unimaginable nature. He talked about the birth of the Tearanei race,
coinciding fall of the Searanei, and the devastating Blood War, started by his
traitor brother, Balar, that had left the people group close to extinction.
Stories were rarely spread of the Ancients, and from recollection, neither he
nor his brothers, had been to this continent.

Kaillum and Ceth
slowly awakened during the storytelling. Dag and Ryon calmed them, before
someone was assaulted and, in no time, they relaxed enough to join in on the
conversation.

“Do you really
believe we are of your kind?” asked Kaillum.

“Partly,”
Taverous started, “You have some of the magic, yet mutated, some of the
physical features and, most convincing to me, is the fact that I am able to
sense your life forces. Call it a benefit of the creator.”

“Our mother is
more like you—bald, but without the magic, to any degree.” Dag pointed at the
three Tearanei. “We obviously knew we were different but never knew what we
really were.”

Kaillum took over
the conversation, “Before we were born, our mother was found in the forests of
our homeland, injured and alone. She was taken in by the Merkadians. Once she
was conscious, it was apparent that she had lost any memory from before her
injury, not even able to explain her differences. So, while being surrounded by
thousands of Merkadians, she still felt alone. Until, she met the man who would
later become our father.

“Yes, he was
still different from her, in a physical sense, but they became inseparable and
fell in love. Our birth must have been the first time that the Tearanei race
had mixed with humans. When we started showing signs of our powers, it scared a
lot of people. Our mother was looked to for an explanation, but she had none.
If it
was
something that came from her people, she had no memory of it.”

Taverous
stroked his chin. “It’s very interesting that you two each have only
one
special talent. From what you have said today, it seems to come naturally,
without having to evoke any spell—very different from the full-blooded
Tearanei. They can learn a multitude of spells and incantations, but each
varies in difficulty and energy expenditure. This must be a transmutation from
the mixing of blood. All very fascinating.”

Taverous
smiled, tickled by the first inspiration for his people group in centuries.

Ryon cleared
his throat. “I’m really sorry to break up this exciting family reunion, but we
still need to find our army.”

“Oh yes,”
Taverous grabbed Kaillum’s arm and led, or pulled, him over to Lasal. “I feel
that we should accompany you. The darkness that I saw is most certainly involved
with what is going on here and, whatever it is, you will need us. You will
travel like us, and we have much faster means.” He grinned, “Lasal has a
natural aptitude for the type of magic that will be useful for this.”

“And what will
this
be?” asked Ceth, who had kept quiet most of the time, trying to
assimilate all the strange information.

“Wonderful and
awkward, my new friend,” Taverous winked, “Kaillum, I need you to concentrate
on the men you know will be marching with the army. Close your eyes and
estimate the area of the island you think they will be near. What’s the terrain
like? How many men would there be? Picture the war banners flying. Be open in
thought, Lasal will decipher the raw information.”