Fate of an Empire (Book One)

Chapter 1 - Welcome to the War

Eyes, may you see clearly.

Feet, may you move sure and swift.

Sword, may you strike with fury.

Shield, may you hold true.

The sky was dark with ash. Thunderous echoes clapped across the battlefield. Boulder after boulder slammed into the weakening barrier. Trebuchets screamed under pressure and then moaned at the sweet release of their burden.

Each blast moved the Talurian army closer to victory.

It's almost time.

Please let my men rest their heads under the stars again.

The splintered wood pleaded to give in to the onslaught; the wall trembling under each blow. Shouted orders made evident the fear from within the fortress. The Kilgarian warriors knew what was coming. They had seen the soldiers sweep across their outer defenses like a wave flattening a sandcastle. Death now waited at their doorstep.

One...

Time slowed. Rurik's chest rose and fell underneath his armor as the words of his father's mantra repeated in his head. Wind whistled through his helmet. The tone changing in pitch as it cut over the spiked rivets that lined the edges, disguising the sounds of death echoing from within the Kilgarian stronghold. His sword weighed heavy in his hand. Sweat matted his dark hair against the back of his neck. He watched a final stone barrel overhead, smashing the fortress wall inward.

Two...

Dust whirled around the Corporal of the Talurian Army. The iron-like smell of blood filled his nostrils. He turned to the left and winked at his brother, Aamin, whose young, bright eyes gave hint to a smile under his faceplate.

Three...

The stench of war was not the only thing that floated across the air. Their victory tiptoed just out of reach. The wall crumbled down, tempting their blades, urging a bloodletting.

"Now!" He gave the order, and his men jumped into action.

The company swarmed the newly made opening—warrior ants invading an opposing mound. Rurik hit the gap first, followed by Aamin, and then Klaric, his lifelong friend.

He lunged into the fortress, swinging his blade through the air. Spears flew at his head, his sword knocking each aside. A trained and practiced formation dropped him to his knees as his own soldiers fired back with bow and arrow. A sequence of thrusts, parries, and jabs won him the opening and troops spilled in through the secured entrance.

The flaming innards of the stronghold opened up into a vast expanse of wooden barriers and hastily made traps. Rurik scanned the area, his ears still ringing from the final stone that won their admission. He spun his arm in the air, hurrying his forces into action.

The twisted maze of palisades bulged with the blackness of Talurian platemail. They filled every route and flushed out every pathway, butchering their leather-clad opposition.

The Kilgarians fought back with their primitive weaponry, giving only dents and dings to the moving wall of steel. For every handful of Talurian casualties, dozens of Kilgarians fell. A trail of cruel slaughter marked their progress into the heart of the fortress.

I need the higher ground. I need victory.

Rurik motioned for Klaric and Aamin to follow. They split away from the mindless wave of soldiers. He set the pace, jogging along a narrow pathway in the direction of the surrounding wall.