Chapter 5

Falcor, grandson of the famed Harken, awoke from his sleep in the barracks at the soft knock on the door. The messenger entered at his command and told him to meet the chief architect at the western edge of the inner wall. Muttering a curse under his breath, the tall soldier donned some clothes and splashed his face with some water of the nearby wash basin. His stubbly beard scratched his hands roughly as he rubbed sleep from his face. Verbally sighing, he shook his head and walked out of the barracks.

The afternoon sun glared down at him. A soldier passed and saluted. Falcor nodded his head in recognition without releasing the scowl from his face. His broad shoulders sagged but were firmly marked with muscle. His large, strong frame, along with a long scar down his right arm, declared him a battle-hardened warrior. He strode to the inner wall where the funny old man, who thought himself a gift of the gods to the city, would be waiting for him. It was not the first time Falcor and his division had been summoned to general repairs. Not five years ago had his and two other units finished work on the new western outer wall. That had been tedious, he decided. Not hard. Not pointless. Not enjoyable. Just tedious. The old crooked jester they called architect-in-chief found him. His scowl did not lift as he greeted Bynor.

“Ahh, Falcor…it is always a pleasure to work with you,” he invited, his white bearded mouth smiling. Falcor nodded. “It seems as though the inner wall here needs redoing! We shall tear her down and make her bigger and better, no?” Falcor shifted his weight and crossed his arms while the bright-eyed fellow babbled on. “First, we must barricade the whole street—from end to end. Then we shall rip it apart—the wall that is. Out with the old, in with the new. Know what I mean?” Bynor nudged the iron man and winked. Falcor blinked and nodded again. Then Bynor departed on another tangent, not to return to the building plans any time soon. Falcor stared at the wall before him, waiting for a miracle of intervention to release him from Bynor’s jabbering. He immediately abandoned that hope and instead tried to dam the flood. He picked his moment and jumped in.

“Bynor…” he interrupted the old man softly.

“…the chieftan was most displeased and so they had him boiled…” Bynor continued, oblivious to the patient giant next to him.

“Bynor…” Falcor prodded.

“…it was so obviously apparent they were charred beyond…”

“Bynor!” Falcor demanded. The bent man stopped babbling and glanced at the soldier.

“Ehh?” came his inquisitive reply. Falcor gazed open-mouthed in wonder at the old man.

“The construction plans?” he suggested.

“Ahh yes, right here. Now, if you can see this whole section is completely worthless…” Bynor pushed off into another lengthy explanation but at least Falcor could read the plans the old man cradled in his arms. Soon, he ignored everything the old man said and focused on the only logical part of the architect: his drafting.

~¤~

The sounds of clashing swords echoed in the courtyard. Amidst the gardens and plants, cries of victory and defeat filled the air. The stone levels and balconies stepped ever-downward to the fountain. Fruit trees and flowers populated circular planters, and hurried footsteps and the ring of metal striking metal continued. From behind a terraced planter emerged Talibor—clad in shining steel armor and a cape flying behind him. As he staggered backwards, the sun glistened off his sword, the engraved runes flashing with burst of light onto the stone wall.

His opponents leapt from the shadows, waving their swords in the air. Standing only waist high to Talibor, the children rushed at him with the fierceness of wild boars blazing in their eyes. They struck at the lord, who couldn’t help but laugh aloud, as he easily parried their blows. Yelping and dropping their weapons, they flung themselves around his feet. Talibor stumbled, trying to free himself from the little monsters, and fell onto the stone floor. The little ones climbed upon him and battered themselves against his armor. His laughter only seemed to enrage them.

Finally, he pried them off and told them to reclaim their swords, for the straw dummies needed hacking. A cheer rose from the company as they rushed off to find their weapons and proceed to the training facility. Talibor rose, still laughing at their antics. The young boys exited the courtyard and he sighed. Looking out from the courtyard, Talibor beheld his town and his country. Ever westward to the horizon did the fertile soil stretch, and the plains before him lay golden in the weeks before harvest. Behind him, the Citadel rose, and the mountains, snowcapped from an early storm, stretched even higher into the heavens.

The air swirled clear and fresh through the garden’s pillars and trees. The young lord’s blue eyes gleamed and his golden-brown hair shone in the pure sunlight bathing the garden. He found a seat next to a pool where fish of all colors swam, seeking food washed down from the upper levels of the Garden in the stream entering it. He watched the bustle of the city below him from his verdant vista, as merchants and caravans entered and left the city through the main gate where they eventually vanished down the Road of the West and over the Dalan River.

A soft hand fell on his shoulder and a soft voice spoke his name. “Talibor, I never expected to find you here…”

Talibor knew by her voice that his sister stood behind him. He sighed. “The city is beautiful today.” His eyes drifted down the chiseled roads and gleaming walls.

“Only today?” she wondered. “You have never been a man desiring of beauty, but of strength and war. What troubles you?” She placed both her hands on his neck and shoulders, and she began to massage him.

“The children…” he began.

“They trouble you?” she said, giggling out loud. Talibor closed his eyes.

“No. It is just that they will not enjoy the childhood that I did.”

“And you want them to?” she prodded.

“That’s just the thing. I was immersed in the art of war as I grew up. Only now, that I am Captain of the Imperial Army, do I have a chance to relish those things that are beautiful. I wish for them to enjoy the beauty, yet the emperor desires to disband the military completely. Without a chance to fight and prove themselves strong, these young boys will be turned into women…”

“Now, that seems an exaggeration, brother. But I had not heard of this proposal. When did you hear it?”

“Some time ago…before I left for Harken,” came his reply. She draped her arms across his neck and pressed her cheek to his.

“Do not worry, brother, about the future. Worry about what you will do today, right now. You are the Captain of the Army. Your voice carries weight…and despite your strength, you carry reason—your mind is sharp. Do not let them talk down to you…”

“I have not. I argue. I debate. Still the emperor will have his way, regardless. I fear I gain neither ground nor grace with him. I think I lose his favor,” Talibor mourned.

“You have not lost my favor, nor that of your soldiers. Remember that, brother,” she said and kissed him on the cheek. “You will do the right thing. I know you will.”

Suddenly Talibor rose and grabbed her by the shoulders. His strong arms kept her immobile and his fiery blue eyes pierced her placid hazel gaze. “I fear for you sister. The emperor has persuaded many by imprisoning their loved ones. You are the last of our family. I fear he will come for you to bend me to his purposes.” Her eyes could find no lie in his face and she blinked slowly.

“What would you have me do?” she asked, sensing his good will.

“Leave, sister. Leave Ashton. Journey to the colonies…north, south, west. Anywhere but here. You have a good mind; surely you can devise a suitable plan. I will look over the house here, but I must not know where you are going. I will find you when it is safe.”

“You mean when the emperor is dead,” she corrected. Talibor stopped and held her gaze.

“If it comes to that, yes.” Then, his voice dropped to a whisper. “My dreams have been dark of late. I do not believe this will end well for everyone. But it will end soon, one way or another I feel. Now go, please.” Tears began to form in her eyes and she flung herself around him in a farewell embrace. Talibor enveloped her in his arms and held her close. “Oh, and give my niece this token of my love.” He drew the necklace from his tunic. She took the present and smiled, wiping tears from her face. Then she spun and ran out the door.

Talibor leaned against the railing overlooking the city and closed his eyes. He took long deep breaths. A soft breeze had started again, and whispered as it blew through the trees. He lost himself in the vista and his thoughts.

~¤~

“Lord Talibor?” A bit startled, he turned to see his compatriot and old friend standing at the top of the staircase behind him. Talibor rose and nodded. The intruder rushed down the stairs to his side.

“What is it Boltor?” the lord asked, spinning to face him.

“A messenger has come from Harken, bearing news of an invasion.”

Talibor narrowed his eyes, pondering the news. “And it is for certain? Or has some sort of Mollock-fear sprung up again.”

“My lord, I fear it is true. They say an army has crossed the mountains of the north and will mostly likely make camp in the northern Plains of Raida.”

Talibor pondered these words for a long moment before answering. “I will talk with the messenger, and then I shall bring it before the emperor, for my heart tells me it is of sufficient value.” The captain bowed deeply and started to leave. “But,” Talibor interrupted him, “if we go to war, will I count on you to follow me?” His glimmering blue eyes trembled.

“Of course, my lord. I shall follow you to death and to dishonor itself,” Boltor replied firmly.

“Good,” answered Talibor, glancing back over the city. “War is no longer popular since Massacre of Harken…the emperor is old and will not see wisdom in battle. Yet, my heart tells me that this will come to war. A fear too deep and old seems to run in my veins, stealing the joy within me. Boltor…”

“Yes, my lord?” came the instant reply.

“This message is but a confirmation of my visions.” Talibor turned and seemed deathly pale and solemn. “This shall be the deciding factor in the very existence of the military, and perhaps, Ashton itself. The future cannot be bright. I sense that I shall not live out this winter, along with many men…Do you still choose to serve? If not I shall release you now into a young retirement.”

“No, my lord! I shall remain true, despite any dreams or visions plaguing you!” The young lord gazed into the captain’s eyes, searching for any hint of deceit. After a moment, he lifted his eyes to the mountains and sighed deeply.

“Boltor, we need more men like you.” He turned and placed his right hand on the captains left shoulder. “I shall call you to my chamber after I meet with the emperor. And, despite the outcome we shall ride to battle—with or without honor and tidings.”

“Yes, my lord.” At that, Boltor snapped to attention, turned, and strode back into the Citadel. Talibor shut his eyes and pondered the feelings inside him. He knew war was coming, and that he would have to meet it head on. But he feared to confront his uncle on this issue. He was old and hard, a broken man straining to keep hold on the grand empire his forefathers had forged. This would only complicate the ongoing internal strife.

He looked again to the beautiful fields outside the city walls. He had neglected the beauty of such for so long. For years he focused on the art of killing, a skill that may save him now. Was the sacrifice worth it—why did this inner desperation plague him? He felt like a sculpture in the courtyard, cold and stiff. The afternoon sunlight no longer warmed his face and a small chilled breeze rushed down from the mountains. Leaves rustled and a few fell, blowing over the edge of the lower balcony and drifting out over the city and into the sinking sun.

Finally, he found the strength to move once again and he ascended the staircase. As he made his way to the upper doorway, he found a ripe apple that the children had not yet picked. He plucked it from the branch and brought it to his nose. Inhaling the sweet scent, he took a bite. His face wrinkled and spit out the mouthful he had taken. He looked at it and found the evidence of a worm. The flesh was no longer crisp and white, but mushy and yellow inside. He tossed the ruined fruit into the planter and hurried inside, wiping his mouth on his cape.

From the doorway, he took a descending staircase to the gates beneath the garden wall. He joined the swarms of travelers on the causeway which climbed from the main city gates to the highest point of the Citadel: the Taren-Hammer Courtyard and the Fortress of Ashton. Instead, he strode down the causeway, towards the main gates until he found the guild. Stepping into the pillared chamber and marching around training soldiers, he found the entrance to the barracks themselves. He pulled an idle guard from his recording duty and asked about the recently arrived messenger. The guard bit his pen while he thought; then epiphany lit his face, and he gave him directions to the messenger’s quarters.

Talibor thanked him and found his way through the maze of hallways and corridors to a single bed room, with the door halfway ajar. He knocked politely and proceeded in when he heard a muffled grunt of approval. When the man saw his visitor, he jumped to attention, but Talibor waved him off. The man took up his seat again.

“How can I help you, my lord?” he asked cheerfully.

“What do you know of this invasion? I must hear the whole truth, for the fate of the empire depends on it.” Talibor questioned plainly.

“Well, my lord, I only know what I hear. The Lord of Harken gave me this message to dispatch to the highest official I came across in the Great Citadel. He must have deemed it important, though I think it a passing rumor…” Talibor waved him off.

“Just tell me, soldier.” He stated.

“Yes, my lord. Here is the message: to the highest commanding officer of the Citadel. An army of unknown magnitudes marches at this very moment across the northern mountains. They are hostile and invasion may be imminent and assumed. I ask that you dispatch all legions to meet this threat before this land tastes winter. Time is of the essence—I rest assured that they do not know that we are aware of their plans. If we can assemble our forces at Harken, we may meet them on our own terms, away from our cities and colonies, away from our women and children. I beg of your immediate action.

Lord Valimor.”

“If lord Valimor deems this a necessary action, we shall respond. You must ride at first light tomorrow! Tell lord Valamor this: I, Talibor, Captain of the Imperial Army, will ride to your aid in thirty days. Expect me no sooner, and no later.

Lord Talibor.

“Now rest and prepare for your journey tomorrow!”

“Yes, my lord.”

Talibor strode out of the guild, leapt up the stairs to the main causeway, and marched ever-upwards to the Taren-Hammer Courtyard. He arrived at the final gates of the Citadel and increased his already hurried pace. Entering them, he made his way across the large plaza, filled with crisp-cut marble busts and statues of past emperors, and at last came to the throne room. He nodded at the guards, who opened the doors for him. The air inside was dark and musty. The light from the open doorway silhouetted Talibor as he stormed the throne. Light motes danced in the air until the final slam of the doors choked off the life of the sun. Torches burned on the walls and in fire bowls adorning the sides of the walkway to the throne. Before he reached the throne, he questioned the emperor. “Do you know, uncle?”

“Of course, my nephew, I know very well what is going on and what you want to do. Be of good cheer, my lad. Everything has already been taken care of. You may rest assured that we will be safe,” answered the old crackly voice. A fit of coughing followed his speech.

“What would you have me do, uncle? I am your humble servant.” Talibor knelt, waiting to receive the orders to march.

“I would have you do nothing. You are of much more importance here in the Citadel than on a battlefield. In fact, every man has a duty to civil affairs, a duty that should not be tainted by war. My nephew, look past the fighting, and see a life to live, air to breathe, and, most importantly, a woman to find. Do not pursue vain thoughts of glory. What did that grant lord Harken? An untimely death is all.” The emperor gazed at his nephew with an empty sincerity and a masquerading smile. Talibor fidgeted uneasily. They had argued this before, but this was not the place to speak up. He pushed his anger deeper until he could rise and return the fake smile.

“Of course, my emperor. Your wish is my wish.” He despised the words he said. They were as false as the emperor himself. Talibor knew what he must do. He felt the chill inside his veins sap his energy. If the emperor would not act, he would. He would not see his people fail, to which the passivity of the emperor would condemn them.

“Then grant me mine,” the old man hissed. “If you do not, certain…penalties may be extracted of you.” Talibor smiled inwardly at his own foresight to warn his sister. He rose and held his uncle’s gaze until the man sustained another coughing seizure and looked away. When silence came again, he bowed deeply. He turned and looked ahead. He thought of assembling the army during the night and riding off before his uncle could order any men to stop him. Though the emperor may label him dishonorable, disloyal, or deserter, Talibor knew he must serve the people of Ashton first and the emperor second, if it came to that. He left the throne room behind, anxious to breathe fresh air once again. But it never came. Suddenly the musty dark grays turned to a complete black and all became silent.