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Epic fantasy! Completed book looking for reviews and advice! Please check it out |
| Prologue Articus glanced at the window shutters. The rattling coming in bursts. Stillness and chaos in a uneven pattern. Howling in the distance, the wind passing through some hollow. The windows shook violently. Water seeping in at the joints. Something was out there, in the dark chaos of the storm. It thrashed and pounded at the window, like an animal wanting in. Lightning flashed out there, glistening through the drops of water. Another flash. The light stayed. Steady, like glowing eyes, just outside. They were talking to Articus. “Let me in.” They told him. “I can show you things you’ll want to see.” Articus was transfixed. “What things?” He thought to himself. “What would I want to see?” The storm stopped. The roaring and the banging shutters replaced by a too quiet silence. Everything stood still. Glancing back at the fireplace he saw that the flame had gone out. Replaced by darkness and quiet. “Errrrrk” the door slowly slid open and young Articus didn’t turn around. Feeling heat behind his neck he froze. CHAPTER ONE “I know… little of humans.” The Darkling said. “They break. Their minds break, but not you. You did not break.” Men screamed in the chaos of battle. Horses piercing cry’s. Fear. Cold rain peppering his face. Friends dying. Orders from Centurion Leaders thick in the air. Mud slick as glass. Heart beating in his ears. “Centurion! They’re trying to out flank us, north side!” “Rotate! Spears up! SHIELD-WALL! More screams. Bow strings releasing. Thump. Thump. “Second signal now!” A small flame shot toward the thundering sky from behind us. Thump. Battle cry’s and screams came closer from behind the shield-wall. Thump. Thump. “Third signal!” Another flaming arrow shot forward. Thump. Screams. Thump. Red painted mud. Thump. Thump. Victory. *** Articus shook his head from the chaotic week-old memory and tried to focus on what was ahead of him. The hypnotic clicking of the horses’ hooves against the cobblestone carpeted road had sent him off daydreaming again. His eyes scanned the land in front of him and, to his surprise, he found the landscape had changed drastically. Before he had drifted off, the road had been surrounded by sparse trees and there hadn’t been a soul in sight. Now large squat mud bricked buildings crowded both sides of the street and people of all kinds parted before him in the thousands. Ahead of him loomed the Golden Arches of the Vanguard Grounds Enormous in size, they were a sight to stop any traveler who had come to Deshar, the Ce’l Empire’s capital. As tall as a three story building, the arches spanned the width of the Empress’s Route. White marble accented the carvings of men and women fighting in long lost battles that snaked up the length of the arches. With the glare of the sun, the carvings were hard to see but, across the top the words “First in, Last out” could be clearly made out in its black onyx stone. Standing proudly above those words was the very symbol of the Vanguard; a red marble carving of the Ce’l Hawk--wings out stretched and beak open in a fierce cry--perched atop the great Sword of Deshar. Articus unconsciously touched an identical hawk and sword that had been tattooed on his right shoulder upon joining the Vanguard. “I thought I’d never see those great beauties again,” Articus heard Under-Centurion Theron Pyrros mutter from behind him. “Aye,” replied more than a few men. A week ago, they had all come to believe that at one time or another. Men who were either coming back or going out on patrols paused at the sight of Articus and the two hundred or so men behind him. Most of the soldiers lingered to look at the banner that waved stubbornly above Articus’s head. The banner carried a copy of the Vanguard symbol, but the sword was partially sheathed into a charred human skull with a red omega symbol stitched on its forehead. It was the sign of the 1st Cohort of the 1st Legion. Most of the men that paused to watch the Legion march by gave Articus a salute, fist to heart. Many in the Vanguard admired the 1st Cohort of the 1st Legion. Watching them salute, and returning it with his own, sapped away his travel’s weariness. The place smelled good, brimming with familiar scents like treated leather and oiled weapons. They were home again. Everywhere Articus looked, he saw men and women parading the grounds in groups of ten or twenty. One of the group’s they had passed had--by the single bronze stripe on his shoulder--a Squad Leader roaring at a green nugget. “ARE YOU STILL ON YOUR MOTHERS MILK, BOY? WHAT DID I TELL YOU? I SAID MOVEEE!” The boy was wide eyed and looked ready to throw up--but, to Articus’s amusement, it didn’t stop him from moving. Ahh, yes. Home. He even heard the faint sounds of wood striking against wood. Surprised by the sound of sword play at high noon, Articus looked around the complex for the source of the sound. While one could bath in the humidity, occasionally soldiers from the other guards would practice in the Vanguard’s arena, in hopes of catching a sponsor--a faster way of getting into the Vanguard than the normal route. It was then that he caught sight of Under-Legate Theodoros Krios striding toward him. Stiffening in his saddle, Articus groaned. Theodoros was the last person he wanted to see right then. Where Articus was tall, lean, and had enough scars for two men, Theodoros was short, lanky, and had a prettiness about him that almost seemed girlish. They were the difference between night and day. Only their short cropped Ce’lian brown hair and brown eyes suggested they were even from the same country. “Centurion Articus Lykos!” Theron cursed under his breath as he too realized who it was. Dismounting, Articus saluted the short man. “Under-Legate Theodoros.” The man had always been a stickler for formality and it didn’t help that he hated the man. Articus heard the men around him follow suit and dismount as well. As the Under-Legate took in everyone around him, Articus’s File Leaders closed in on the man--an attempt at intimidating the man ever so casually. “I received your prelim reports yesterday and I wanted to hear it from your own lips.” Ignoring the men surrounding him artfully, Theodoros pointed an accusing finger at him. “You said that our intelligence reports were off by twice the amount?” Articus would have thought the man had never been in a battle before. He still couldn’t believe the royal prick had found his way into the 1st Legion, let alone obtain the rank of Under-Legate. “Affirmative. I’m sure the intelligence at the time was correct. They just gathered men faster than we could have anticipated.. Under-Legate.” The pause in his title made the little man grind his teeth. “I would hate to believe, Centurion, that you would make something like this up. Almost twice your own forces and less than a quarter of yours dead? I am hard pressed to believe… this.” Theodoros waved the piece of paper in his other hand disgustedly. “You are more than welcome to ask every man here what they saw but, then again, I would be hard pressed to ask over two hundred men. I think they have better things to do right now. Why not be thankful that we were lucky to have so many return this time?” He hadn’t planned on letting the little man get the best of him but the words came out bitterly nonetheless. “Under-Centurion Theron has a more detailed report for the Legate,” Articus continued in a calmer voice. “If you have nothing else to ask me, my ass is sculpted like a saddle and I’d like to see a bathtub some time soon, preferably before my men throw me in the sea.” The men around him snickered as the Under-Legate’s face reddened to a nice apple color. It didn’t help either that the File Leaders didn’t bother to hide their satisfaction. If it had been anyone other than Theodoros he would have disciplined them for such disrespect. Well, perhaps not if it had been Legate Lucius. Theodoros glared at the soldiers behind him who, smartly, stopped before he turned his glare to Theron. His Under-Centurion returned the glare with his own stoney ‘I-kill-for-less’ look., “Primus Titus Ja’nes wants you in his office, on the double.” He finally said, all too pleasantly. Articus unconsciously straightened. The Primus? “Who knows what the Primus wants. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were because of this trash.” He crumbled up Articus’s preliminary report and made a face as if to spit. Instead, he muttered. “I don’t even see why he gave you this mission when it was obvious it should have been Legate Lucius’s.” Although he would’ve appreciated the two extra Cohorts that’d come with a Legate’s involvement, he was sure more men would have died if Lucius had led the assault. Besides, the intel had specified no more than a three hundred men and anything larger than a Cohort would have announced to the world where they were. Let’s not forget the political nightmare in explaining why they had the whole 1st Legion riding around just a few leagues from the Kalian border. Even a nugget could see that--which said something for Theodoros’s lack of tactics. Realizing he had spoken his thoughts aloud, Theodoros puffed up like a blowfish and turned to walk away. He hadn’t walked far enough, however, for Articus to hear the man mutter, “filthy peons.” That got Articus’s blood boiling. ‘Bluebloods’ and ‘peons’ were derogatory names for the royalty and the peasants. Only bluebloods could climb higher than the rank of Centurion. If it had been up to the bluebloods, they would all have begun as Centurions in the Guard. Almost every blueblood Articus had seen hated being forced to salute to an outranking peon. He suspected that many of the bluebloods, like Theodoros, got on the fast track to Under-Legate the day they got in, but it was a hard thing to prove. That angered him the most. Men died because of their stupidity. It was a common thing to have the Houses send their sons and daughters to the Guard to “toughen” them up. Many of the kids that came in even had romanticized ideas of the Guard. That nonsense didn’t last a day. Thankfully, the Vanguard was the most difficult Guard to get into and it took years of experience – or very powerful relatives – to pass the tests. It was a wonder to Articus that they had allowed him, a peasant, to go as far as Centurion in the Vanguard, let alone the 1st Cohort of the 1st Legion. Most people believed he had been promoted because of his old friendship with the now General of the Vanguard. When he had been the Under-Centurion for the 2nd Legion, the General had been one of his File Leaders. It might have been the General, or his uncanny luck when it came to battles, but he doubted it. Articus knew it was the people who followed him that made the impossible happen. He just made common sense decisions. He still couldn’t believe he had obtained the rank of Centurion--even after a year of wearing the three silver stripes. “The Primus wants to see you?” Theron had walked around to face Articus, filling in the gap Theodoros had left. There was a hint of worry in his voice. “Nothing the Centurion can’t handle,” Giles Shoen, a File Leader, barked from behind him confidently. Articus waved them for silence and, after a moment of thinking, motioned to Theron. “Get the men and animals settled down and rested, but keep the horses near. We might be out again.” It was one of the few things that had come to mind when he had heard the Primus’s name. The Primus wouldn’t think I’m a liar… would he? The men before him responded with grim determined nods and Articus felt a swell of pride. They’d been chasing down a band of rouge Kalians for nearly two moons and had literally fought for their lives when they had finally caught up to them. Now they were ready to head out again without complaint Tossing his reins to Theron, Articus patted Ronin, his warhorse, comfortingly before he made his way toward the Officer’s Building. Either another mission or a dress-down, Articus thought bitterly. He knew the first would be less likely. A week of downtime was a rule they had after missions like the one they had just undertaken. Only in times of war did Primuss ignore the rule and Articus prayed that wasn’t the case. Besides, the two bluebloods that stood between himself and the Primus hated him with a passion, for reasons he couldn’t fathom. In fact, Articus wouldn’t have put it past them to have influenced the Primus into believing that goat’s-dung-of-a-lie that he had fabricated the numbers. But, then again, Primus Titus was one of the few bluebloods he respected, and he hoped the feeling was mutual. Articus didn’t know him personally, but the man had the respect of all the Centurions in the 3rd Legion who were of ‘humble origins.’ At least, those Articus had spoken with felt that way. The 3rd had been the Legion the Primus had risen from and Articus had taken great care in knowing what the man was like when he had taken over as Primus of the 1st Legion. The Officer’s Building was a great square building that had three floors. The building housed all the Guard’s Primuss, Majors, and Generals. Even the Primus General of the Empire’s Guard had an office somewhere at the very top, a place Articus hadn’t yet had the honor to see. White marble and a great sweeping staircase met his eyes upon entering the building. Having been to the Primus’s office before, he ignored the staircase and made his way down the east wing. The Primus’s office was the last door on the right but he paused before knocking. “Get a grip on yourself, Articus,” he muttered to himself. He knocked twice and heard a muffled “Enter” from behind the oak door. Steeling himself for what was to come, he opened the door with the same stubborn determination he had come to rely on before going into battle. His confidence, however, slowly died away and weariness took hold of him as the door swung open. What the-? “Centurion Articus Lykos, I’m glad to see that you made it back safely,” said the Primus. “Please have a seat.” Articus closed the door behind him and eyed the young woman seated across from the Primus cautiously. He took the seat between the two, but his eyes never left the woman. She had blue eyes and black hair? Articus tried to recall all the stories about the three other lands beyond the Empire. Having only seen Kalians, and them being similar to Ce’lians, Articus had had doubts about the tales of green eyed or black haired people. In fact, the Kalians resembled the Ce’lians so closely that, at times, Articus believed the Empire had been carved out of the Kalians, or vice versa, rather than the two kingdoms having come to power separately. Is she from Capri or Ghourd, then? She was pretty, too. No, he corrected himself after a closer look, gorgeous. He imagined her as one of the large sleek cats he’d sometimes find roaming the Empire’s plains. The two daggers that hung low on her thighs only reinforced that image. And that tight fitting riding dress… Articus fought down the heat wave that tried to reach his face when he realized he’d been staring at her. She was about his age… “Articus this is Celia Tecard, from Tekal.” He racked his brain for the city but came up blank. “Tekal, sir? I’ve never heard…” Primus Titus sighed heavily. “She is from the Reaper’s Guild. Mistress Celia believes you have the making of a Reaper.” If it wasn’t for the seriousness in the Primus’s voice he would have laughed in the man’s face. Articus shook his head slowly. “Reaper’s Guild? Children’s tales, sir. Fire breathing Darklings and men who are immortal. Primus--” He couldn’t stop his head from shaking. Celia slid a creamy white rock across the table to him. It looked to be smooth as glass, almost like a firestone, but somehow looked alive. “Touch it,” she said soothingly, her voice almost musical to his ears. He realized, then, that he had backed away from it uncertainly. Feeling embarrassed, he leaned in and grabbed the stone. The moment his fingers touched the slick rock, it flared. Brilliant light that hurt the eyes radiated from it until he couldn’t even see his hand. He threw the pulsing stone back across the table toward Celia as if it were a hot coal and backed further away from the table. This time he didn’t feel embarrassed. He blinked away the black and purple specs that blurred his vision. “What w– was, that?” Articus stammered as the rock turned back to its original form. “That, Articus, is a Talent Stone. You have the gift – very strong, in fact.” She touched her lower lip thoughtfully. Shrugging she said, “I am here to take you back to Tekal were you will train to become a Reaper.” Articus’s mouth dried. “Is this a joke? Darklings, Reapers…Talent Stones? And leave? No, I can’t--What of my men? Primus?” He looked at the Primus and was only slightly surprised to find that he was pleading. “Sorry, son. If I had it my way you’d be my Legate and heading to Ghidean to secure it for the Summit that’s coming up. But law is law.” He waved a signed document with the Empress’s seal on it. If it had been any other day, he’d have fallen over with gratitude at the compliment. A set of tired eyes met Articus’s and right then he knew it was hopeless. Any other day… “I’m afraid this isn’t a joke. I have only seen this once before. I’m bound by law to hand you over to her and not speak another word of this. The Empress has her own reasons for keeping all this silent but it is clear that she wants anyone who has the talent in Tekal as soon as possible to be trained.” The Primus looked away for a second and then added, “I’ll make sure your men are well taken care of. I’m promoting Theron and he will take your place. They will be given one full moon of leave for your work near the boarders before they head to the Summit.” Articus was speechless. Of all the things that he had expected, nothing had come close to this. He could have laughed hysterically but the fear of them thinking him sick in the head stopped him. But then, that thought made him want to laugh even more. I’m losing my wits, Articus thought dryly. “Gather your things and say your goodbyes. You leave within the hour.” This time, there was no doubt; the Primus was ordering him. |
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