Fate of an Empire (Book One)

Chapter 3 - Forest Meeting

A single wolf sprinted through the cold northern woods, smooth white-grey fur flattened against his body. Steam rose from his flared nostrils, and muscles flexed from deliberate, agile movements. The horizon was marked with snowcapped mountains, just visible through the thinning forest. The majestic view flashed across the wolf's eyes as it raced past trees and splashed through icy creeks.

The sudden, faint whisper of life, anchored the beast in its tracks.

The sound tempted him around a large rock formation. He looked to the left and saw a clearing a few paces away. Slinking behind the thick undergrowth and using the foliage as cover, the animal sniffed the air. The scent of humans tickled his senses and, by following his nose, he turned his gaze to witness a rider enter the clearing.

The man moved around the opening, checking for tracks or evidence of recent activity. Satisfied all was as it should be, he rode back into the tree line and emerged a moment later with five other riders. One of them wore the Chieftain necklace of the Chargon tribe—a cumbersome looking thing with multiple rows of brightly colored feathers and random pieces of bone from past leaders. A shawl of woven greenery framed his shaven head while sunlight filtered through the trees, highlighting his bare chest and traditional tattoos of his forest tribe.

"Where are they?" asked one of the men, breaking the silence.

The disgruntled words reverberated off the iced mountains that circled the area.

The Chieftain held up a finger to silence him. He slowly turned his head, scanning the trees, his hand never moving far from a dangerous-looking stone hatchet hanging from his waist.

"They were supposed to be here when the sun was high overhead. We may have been tricked," said another.

The wolf crept closer.

He slid his body over the knotted forest floor to keep his head from being spotted. As he neared the group, they turned their mounts to leave. A sudden low rumble brought them to a halt.

A company of horsemen fanned out into the opening. There were twenty soldiers, all carrying swords and shields, with bows slung over their backs. Every one of them was wrapped in thick, tattered fur coats—people from an endless winter. Their unruly, blonde hair and pale skin contrasted against the tribesmen to an extreme.

These were the feared Merkadian warriors from the mountains of the north, all veteran soldiers, with the scars to prove it.

The wolf retreated to a more covered area at the sight of the soldiers.

A man, wearing an enormous bearskin draped over his shoulders, jumped down from his mount and moved toward the Chargon leader, giving a slight bow. The Chieftain dismounted from his horse and returned the gesture.

The two started to talk.

The wolf strained his hearing, trying to make out any words, but was not able. He started edging along to where they stood.

Suddenly the tribesman shouted. "What? You bring me out here, to the middle of nowhere," he motioned around the clearing with his hands, "and expect me to do that?" His outrage accentuated his Chargon accent as he spoke the words in the common tongue.

The stocky, mountain warrior placed a hand on the Chieftain's shoulder. "Calm yourself, Amhar. King Melidarius has already convinced both Kilgar and Targa to join us. They seem to understand what is at risk," The warrior tilted his head, "Do you?"

"Don't play me the fool, Vyker! We know the trouble that is coming our way. We know that the Kilgarians were hit hard and lost the majority of their warriors in one swift blow. I came here to make an alliance, not surrender my people to a new ruler." Chieftain Amhar turned and walked a couple feet away, pausing for a moment. "But, by already having the other tribes, you put me in an impossible position. I now cannot look to them for allegiance."

The Chieftain started pacing back and forth and then gradually extended his hand. "Okay, General Vyker, the Chargon tribe will accept the proposed agreement and join this grand scheme. We will aid Merkadia."

"Excellent." Vyker clasped the man's forearm.

Amhar nodded and mounted his horse. "The moment I return to my village; I will send runners for the King's orders."

"Thank you. Your immediate focus should be to gather your army and prepare to march. We already have plans in motion to take care of their General."

Amhar grinned, "With Saris out of the picture, we may stand a chance. He is the only one among them able to keep that monster of an army under control. His Captains are inept without his guidance."

Vyker returned Amhar's grin, "We see it the same way."

"Maybe this war won't take too long after all."

Amhar turned his small group around and led the riders back into the dense tree line.

Vyker returned to his horse and motioned for his company to move out. The wolf waited for the sound of horses to fade, before venturing out from the underbrush. He took off running across the open grass and leaped into the air. His body contorted as shimmering, bright strands of light wrapped around him.

The wolf lost its form and became a pliable ball of green energy. The sphere exploded and collected again, forming into a falcon. He lifted himself out of the clearing and soared up into the sky.

Thandril flew in his bird form, high above the ground, darting in and out of the thick cloud cover. The other tribes were joining against the Talurian Empire. It was time to go back to Saris.

He flew over vast, open fields, between jagged mountains, and up sheer rock faces. The land raced by underneath, and the changing climates made evident how far he had flown over the last few days. The landscape changed from the forests that surrounded the ice-capped mountains of the Merkadian tribe to the jagged grasslands of the southern coast he called home.

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