Wolves of Empire [EPIC DARK FANTASY] [Book One Complete]

Part Two

The Gift of Wholeness

Eighteen

Endarion

Aukruna, Tharghest

23rd of Satimus

Before Aukruna exploded into view atop the horizon, Endarion signalled a halt and waited as their five separate armies—six if he counted Kaldurani Prime as its two halves—stood down and established a hasty camp. Because the location of the retreating Imperial forces remained unknown, and because he suspected the upcoming city would be the stage for whatever resistance might be launched, he'd advised the soldiers to be ready to fall into battle formation at the slightest notice.

He arranged a swathe of scouts on horseback, sending them out in all directions in the hope that at least one of them would stumble upon Dobran and his men. He didn't imagine his cousin would leave Aukruna unmolested as he passed through, so Endarion gave an elite handful of his chosen soldiers instructions to skirt as close to the city's walls as they could to judge how many men Dobran had occupying Aukruna. If an un-sprung trap existed, he planned to know in advance.

By the time the scouts thundered out of sight and a rudimentary camp erected across their halted forces, the sun had peaked, cloaking the grassland in an early summer warmth. He was glad to be north of the Imperium now; the depths of summer south of Tharghest could be stifling, especially in the southernmost Imperial provinces. A poor time to launch a campaign, even less so if his insurrection continued through the rest of the year and beyond.

He stalked along the outskirts of the Denjini camp, his padded combat coat marking him as the superior officer and ensuring every soldier who caught his eye saluted him. His returned salutes were lacklustre, and he swallowed the urge to look away and avoid his men, because he knew they'd all heard by now about his altercation with Kaeso. His nephew had taken to strutting around the Denjini camp proclaiming his uncle's ineptitude and imploring the Denjini to oust him as their commander. He wore the bruise on his jaw with pride and told anyone who would listen how their arch-general had sabotaged Valerian's plans for no better reason than to save Estrid.

As tempting as it might be to confront Kaeso and undermine his nephew before his army, Endarion let the boy spout whatever venom he wished. Any attempts to silence him would only prove Kaeso's point, and besides, the Denjini were loyal to Endarion first and foremost. Kaeso being the son of their Corajus meant little, especially on the field, yet Endarion still felt as if he'd betrayed that loyalty; after all, his nephew spoke no lies.

It seemed portentous that he'd managed to push away even a close member of his family. The only benefit of Kaeso's unannounced arrival was its overshadowing of the mad outburst he'd suffered when sparring with Daria.

Though he'd given his nephew a tent and assigned several rank-and-file soldiers to keep him out of the way, uneasiness hounded Endarion. The prickling sensation of being under heavy scrutiny had been a constant and unwelcome companion these last few days, and every reminder of his nephew's presence also served as a reminder of his older brother's predicament. He'd thought Valerian too powerful to be touched by the Caetoran when he'd defected, yet his actions had gotten Valerian and Sephara arrested. Arrested, and almost certainly executed. Not yet, of course. His brother would be used as an example and probably killed alongside Endarion when the insurrection inevitably failed and he was defeated.

Because he would be defeated, without the support of Valerian and their political allies.

He, his daughter, his army, and all the armies joined with him would be vanquished, their leaders paraded through Empyria and executed en masse at the end of the Triumph the Caetoran would inevitably arrange for Dobran.

The first stirrings of madness heated his skull, and he closed his eyes against the images of brutal executions. He couldn't afford to keep succumbing, not with so many lives relying on a successful campaign.

In the deep obliviousness of his thoughts, he'd wandered beyond the outskirts of his camp, where the sentries waited at regular intervals to welcome back returning scouts. He closed his eyes and let the soft breeze ruffle his hair and pull at the lines of his coat, trying to imagine he was back at the Howling Tower in Denjin, with nothing but a day of stonehound training ahead. The gentle sound of boots muffled by grass shattered his illusion and he turned to regard the intruder.

Daria faced him with her hands clasped behind her back in unconscious mimicry of him, her face pulled into a nervous frown. Beside her, about half a head taller but similar enough in appearance to be marked as family, stood Remus, Avelyn's son and Daria's half-brother.

"Paramount-General, sir," the young man said, then offered a crisp salute.

His son's sudden arrival left him speechless, and for a moment all he could do was stand and stare. Aside from his stature and the black Boratorren hair on his head and dusting his jaw, Remus was his mother's son, with Avelyn's softer features and bright hazel eyes. Endarion hadn't properly seen the boy since before Shaeviren, and since then he'd matured into a young warrior, all of twenty-one years old. Endarion had seen so little of his eldest son, he could only picture Remus in stages, unable to fill the gaps. First, as a little pink infant in Avelyn's arms, then a precocious boy of ten playing with the stonehound puppies at the Howling Tower, then a teenager training with his mother for the first time. And now, a grown man who addressed Endarion as a superior officer, with none of the affection a father might expect of a son.

He deserved no affection, of course. Aside from a few training sessions too many years ago, he'd barely interacted with the boy. Though this was the first campaign Remus had served in Endarion's army, they'd been at war for weeks, and Endarion knew he should've found time to speak with Remus, to see how he settled into military life. It was a similar story with his other three illegitimate children, though. He allowed other matters to rule him.

"What's wrong?" Endarion asked, looking between his two children, unsure which to address.

"I just wanted… wanted to… sir …"

Daria rolled her eyes and trampled over her half-brother's stuttering. "I asked him to come and seek you out. Because you want to talk to him, don't you?" She fixed him with a single raised brow.

Ah, he remembered now. His conversation with Daria after his whipping following the catastrophe beneath Allodek's walls. He'd told her of regretting having failed his five children, and she'd apparently decided that forcing a conversation between him and his eldest son provided the best solution.

"I don't want to presume," Remus said, looking down at his feet.

"You don't presume, Rey," Daria replied, knocking a shoulder into her younger sibling's. "He's your father, and we could all be dead by the end of this campaign. There's no harm in talking."

The young man scuffed his boot into the grass. "Um… The stonehounds are doing well, sir. Mother… er, I mean Doglord Brazus, is training them even as we march."

Daria rocked back on her heels and sighed loudly. "I didn't mean a report, Rey. I meant a casual conversation."

Endarion cleared his throat and spared the boy. "How are you settling in, Remus? Does a soldier's life suit you?"

Remus scuffed one boot across the grass, his focus wavering as he clearly forced himself to meet his father's gaze and hold it. Endarion spared him again by being the first to glance away as he waited for an answer.

"There's a lot more marching than I anticipated," Remus admitted. "A lot less actual fighting." He coughed nervously, as if to cover up a lapse. "Not that I'm questioning your tactics, Fa… Sir."

"It's okay, I know what you mean," Endarion said, forcing a smile. "That sounds like your mother's sentiment, anyway. No doubt she's been chafing for more combat."

"Always, sir. She scares me sometimes."

Endarion huffed a rough laugh. "She scares me, too."

"I can speak with her, if you wish," Remus continued. "Maybe I can get her to tone down her sentiments."

Spoken, Endarion noted, like a fearful subordinate offering himself to an intimidating superior in hopes of ingratiation. He shook his head, sharing a glance with Daria. "There's no toning down Avelyn, son," he said. "She's exactly the way she needs to be."

Daria sighed and planted her hands on Remus's shoulders and shoved him in the camp's direction. "You're hopeless. Come back when you've learned to be anything but a sycophantic soldier."

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Remus marched smartly away, and Endarion watched him go, wondering if it was his place to call after the boy. Instead, he stood his ground, shifting a narrowed gaze to his daughter.

"Don't look at me like that," she said. "I'm trying to help."

"It's too late for help," he replied.

"It's never too late."

He puffed a cynical chuckle. "We're in the middle of a war. I don't think Remus needs the additional burden of having to make nice with his mad old father." Daria opened her mouth, no doubt to deny his claims, but he raised a hand. "No, don't. You were there in Dujaro. You saw what happened. It's getting worse. Before the end of this campaign, I will be back to how I was after Shaeviren." He glanced across the expansive snake of his camp, towards where the Kaldurani waited. "We can only hope Estrid and Aladar can lead in my absence."

"I'm not letting that happen," Daria replied. She raised one arm, hesitated only briefly, then slapped him on the shoulder. "Neither will Estrid and Aladar. Avelyn, too. Even Remus. We're all here to support you."

Before he could reply, he spied the jerking silhouette of a horse thundering towards them. The scout astride it moved oddly in the saddle, as if injured, and it wasn't until he'd drawn closer that Endarion realised the horse carried a corpse. He calmed the animal as it skittered towards him, then grabbed its reins and held it firm as Daria cradled its head and tried to console it.

Rope secured the scout's arms around the horse's neck and the legs had been lashed to the saddle. A dark pool of crimson stained the deep blue of the coat, and similar streaks spattered the horse's pelt, attesting to the violence of the rider's death. A dagger jutted from between the body's shoulder blades, pinning a sheet of paper.

"Fuck," he murmured as he plucked the dagger free and smoothed out the paper.

Iron Wolf,

I'm waiting for you at Aukruna. Any more scouts you send my way will be promptly returned to you in a similar fashion as this one. I'll only ask once: come and meet me at the northern gates and we can discuss the consequences of your actions. Bring only a small party.

Warmaster Tyrannus

―

Though Khian's invitation couldn't have been a more obviously devious lure, Endarion insisted on answering the summons. "We need to get past Aukruna anyway," he'd argued as he'd presented the Warmaster's letter to a gathering of their armies' leaders. "He might want to bargain."

Bargain for Valerian's life, he hadn't needed to say.

"He'll have Aukruna fully garrisoned, and he'll snatch you as soon as you appear before the gates," Aladar had replied.

"He won't get near me if I bring the right people with me," Endarion said. "A 'small party' is, what, four or five people?"

There'd been a heated debate about who should join him, which Kaeso interrupted after learning of the dead scout's return. His anger at being kept ignorant was only overshadowed by his desire to confront the Warmaster himself, and though he was wary enough of Endarion to not instigate a fight, Kaeso still stood before the Baltanos and tried to make his case for why he should be in command. Aladar, to his credit, watched the young man with a blank expression.

"First-General Hasund," Endarion said in the lull between Kaeso's exclamations. "When we leave to confront the Warmaster, I want you to ensure my nephew stays here."

Kaeso fixed him with his sternest scowl, though on his youthful face it just looked ridiculous. Palla spoke up before he could. "Would it not be wise for me to accompany you, in case you need to be quickly removed?" She raised her brows at him, silently reminding him of her master's need to keep him protected.

Well, fuck Sudarium. He could protect himself.

"And let Khian know you're a worldstrider?" he'd replied. "I'd rather keep that surprise a secret for as long as possible." He flicked his gaze towards his nephew. "Besides, Exalt-Lord Boratorren here is important to our cause. I want only the best ensuring his safety."

A lie, spoken only to prevent more of his nephew's childish demands, but Kaeso self-righteously swallowed it nonetheless.

The high command eventually decided Estrid and Borso would join him on account of their aasiurmancy, and to act as representatives for the Kaldurani faction. And, because she wouldn't allow him to walk into another fight without her, Daria had also insisted on coming. She still begrudged him removing her from the showdown in the mountains outside Varanos, and he didn't want to further damage their relationship by pushing her away again.

They left their armies behind, having moved them close enough to Aukruna to enact a hasty siege if necessary, but still distant enough to avoid being an overt threat. And because this was clearly a trap and Endarion hadn't yet taken leave of all his senses, he'd left a breadcrumb trail of cavalry squads in their wake, to sweep in and support should Khian mean to attack or secure them.

Their small group, mounted on the finest cavalry horses Estrid could provide, rode towards the looming walls—perhaps more apt to label them cliffs—of Aukruna's north-facing wall. Only a single gate faced them, flanked by walls more than a hundred feet high. The gate itself equalled the height of the wall, large enough to require an entire team to winch it open, and the only path leading up to it was the wide bridge that leapt over the fork of the two joined rivers Aukruna nestled within. Endarion squinted to pass his gaze over the wall's summit, finding no archers looking down at them. Scouts had reported a lack of enemy presence on the battlements, but the sensation of being watched nagged at him.

"Are you sure about this?" Daria asked as they crossed the bridge and halted at the stone courtyard directly before the gate. Before the collapse of Tharghest, this courtyard would've been populated by crowded masses waiting to pass into the city.

"You doubt me?" he replied. The tension knotting his stomach eased when Daria relaxed and offered him a half-smile.

"Not you," she said. "It's that bastard Khian's sense of honour and fair play I doubt." Without thinking, she raised a hand to her cheek, the wound Khian had inflicted healed now.

The gate grated with a commotion of creaking stone, and the giant structure swung inwards a fraction. In the space, the Warmaster appeared, backed by enough soldiers to outnumber their small party twice over. Khian wore a padded coat of gold-trimmed royal purple—the Tyrannus colours—and beneath it a leather vest best suited for duelling. His blade was belted at his waist, making the point of this meeting clear. Endarion dismounted to meet the challenge, the rest of his party following his unspoken command.

"There he is," Khian called as he approached. "The troublesome Paramount-General Boratorren." He snapped a hand up and frowned. "No, wait. That's not right. You're just a common traitor now, aren't you?"

"Khian," Endarion replied. "I came as summoned. Now, tell me what you want. I'm a busy man."

"So I've heard," the Warmaster replied, skimming his gaze over the party behind him. His eyes snagged first on Daria, who he showed a smug smile, and then Estrid. "It's very simple, actually. I have your brother in my custody. He is alive, just, and I will return him to you in exchange for that traitorous cunt over there." He dipped his head towards Estrid.

Endarion didn't even consider the offer. "Fuck yourself with that toy sword of yours."

The younger man raised an offended hand to his chest. "That's uncalled for. I can assure you Valerian suffers greatly at my hand. Wouldn't you like to free him of this? All you need to do is relinquish one useless woman."

"Hardly useless if you wish for my company so desperately," Estrid sniped.

The Warmaster smiled but refused to acknowledge her. "Someone must be made an example of. It's your choice, Boratorren, whether it's the older brother you fight for, or the woman you used to fuck."

Endarion snorted and made to turn away, eager to be away from beneath Aukruna's walls despite knowing how foolish it was to present his unguarded back to an enemy. The Warmaster clapped his hands as if trying to get a dog's attention. "Counterproposal, then. My uncle didn't think you would accept the trade, anyway."

"I'm listening."

"I have half my father's army behind these walls. Aukruna's easy to garrison, we all know that. Even with all your Kaldurani allies, a siege here would stretch for months. None of us have the patience for that, so I'll challenge you to a duel. The winner takes Aukruna and, presumably, the head of his slain opponent. We save ourselves a wasted siege. My soldiers are already under instruction to remove themselves from Aukruna if you best me." His smile widened to grotesque proportions, and Endarion remembered the gleeful expression Khian had worn when watching him whipped to unconsciousness. "How does that sound?"

Though he'd once been an expert duellist, his prime had retreated years behind him, as Estrid had so adeptly demonstrated when she'd beaten him at the Dujaro negotiations. Khian, by contrast, was twenty years his junior, with the training befitting a noble son. Endarion had also never fought the Warmaster before, nor even seen him spar, and so didn't know which techniques he favoured.

More to the point, there's no chance the bastard's telling the truth and would willingly cede Aukruna.

But then Endarion remembered the way Khian had beaten his daughter, and all reason abandoned him.

"It sounds wonderful," he said with a forced grin of his own.

Khian turned on his heel, though changed his mind at the last moment and whipped back into place. "Two conditions." He gestured to Endarion's leg brace. "Firstly, that thing will be removed, and you will fight as the cripple you are. Secondly, I want none of that sorcerous shit those Kaldurani dabble in." He nodded to Estrid and Borso. "If any of my guards see a trace of magic coming from either of them, we will kill you all and barricade ourselves in the city."

Endarion returned to his small party as Khian set about removing his coat. After a strained moment of silence, Estrid drew him aside and knelt in front of him. She began unfastening the leather buckles of his brace, her touch devastatingly gentle to avoid knocking his abused joint.

"You still think this is a good idea?" she murmured, glancing up at him.

"Too late to consider a second option," he replied, momentarily distracted by the ghost of her hand across his thigh as she worked her way up to where the brace was secured to his belt. "You don't think I can beat him?"

"With your brace, of course you can. I fought you at Dujaro, remember?" She loosened the last buckle then stood, helping him balance as he pulled his boot off, freed the metal contraption from his foot, then slid his boot back on. As if aware of its renewed vulnerability, his knee started throbbing. "Without it, I'm not so sure."

"Though your confidence inspires me, I have no choice but to win." He looked over to where Khian waited. "We need this city behind us if we want to press on. But more importantly, I need to kill the Abyss-cursed fuck who beat my daughter. Or take him alive and repay every blow a hundred times over."

"Don't you dare die," Estrid said quietly, looking him in the eye. "I've saved you too many times to watch you die now."

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him towards her, nestling herself into his embrace and resting her head against his shoulder. He drew her in, closing his eyes and imagining himself anywhere but here. The warm, woody smell of her inspired comfort and the weight of her in his arms made him feel safe.

"I won't," he promised, rubbing one hand across the small of her back, wishing they didn't need to pull away from one another.

He gave Daria's shoulder a reassuring pat before shucking his coat, freeing his arming sword, and returning his focus to where Khian stood with his soldiers arrayed around him in a half-circle. Already his leg thrummed with dull pain, and it wouldn't be long before he started limping.

"I hope she gave you the farewell of a fallen hero," the Warmaster goaded. "I might let her keep your body after I've separated your head from it."

Rather than answer, Endarion assessed the way the younger man moved as he eased himself into a poised stance. Khian's sword was longer and heavier than Endarion's, though he likely had the youthful strength to wield it with grace, and he leaned forward as if prepared to snatch the first offensive. Khian bore most of his weight on his leading leg, and the white-knuckled grip around his blade's hilt spoke of excitement and anticipation. Maybe, if Endarion lasted beyond the opening exchange, he could goad Khian into a reckless manoeuvre.

Khian bared his teeth in a rictus grin. "Let's begin, old dog."