Empires of the Lost

Kurux – the black-crowned emperor of the greatest empire to rise beneath the red sun – knelt in supplication here in his secret chamber, high in the uttermost tower of his palace. Here he was guarded, and warded, and alone save for that which he summoned, that which he worshiped and feared in equal measure. He chanted the long, slow sounds that were not words in any human speech. He called forth with the power he possessed inside his mind, and the pool before him began to roil, and rise.

As ever, he felt the presence before anything else. An awareness that something immense and mighty focused its attention upon him, and that he was no more than an insect creeping upon the earth in comparison to the vast and terrible mind that now made contact with him. The pool rippled, and then it began to pour upwards, to make a form in the air that was not a shape that belonged to human eyes, and indeed, even to look upon this pallid reflection of the entity would blast and blacken the mind of anyone not gifted with the power such as he possessed.

I answer your weak and puling call. I bend to your small will, fragile though it may be. Give adulation unto my form, and speak. The voice was a terrible thing, echoing through his mind, seeming to shake the very walls. He believed that if it wished, it could blast his city to the ground with a word. His god was a mighty, fearsome god, and nothing else remained on the ruined earth that might contest with it.

And yet, it had limitations. There were boundaries upon its power, and that was why it needed him, and tolerated him, and uplifted him. It gave him power, and he would work its will. “Your form is a thing of beauty unsurpassed,” Kurux said, his voice shaking, for the summoning asked much from him. “Your will is power and it commands me. I supplicate. I adore.”

Speak then. It said.

“I have gathered in all powers to me,” Kurux said. “I have constructed all my war engines in accordance with the old ways. I have pressed a generation of men into my legions, broken them with a rod of iron, and made them into killers above all. My empire is a machine of war, and now, in accord with your will, I will unleash it.”

Yes, the voice said. It is my will to scourge the world. To grind it down to the bare rock and ash. To complete the destruction of man.

“I have only one fear,” Kurux said. “Shath the barbarian warlord escaped me. For five years there has been neither sign nor word. Yet now I hear rumors from the west. I am told of an army of killers on the move, riding forth from the Death Lands.”

What do you ask, servant? The voice was pitiless.

“Is it Shath? Does he live?” Kurux felt a fear in him that was new, when he had thought there was no more room within him.

He lives. The voice said. Go forth in all your power and destroy him. Destroy all. None shall stand against you. None.

o0o

The skies over the city of Zur were black with smoke from forge and factory. The ancient buildings and towers were black beneath layers of soot from the eternal fires where steel was smelted and forged into armor, shield, and spear. A black rain fell from the darkened sky on the day the great gates opened and poured forth the endless hosts of the emperor’s legions.

Rank on rank they marched, and the sound of their tread shook the very walls. They issued from every gate, thousands upon thousands, and among them marched the mounted soldiers on their reptilian steeds, lances upright and helms gleaming like scales on a vast serpent. War machines walked and rolled among the hosts, belching forth smoke and leaving poison in their wake.

Scaled titans walked, surmounted by castles where men waited with bow and arrow and machines to throw fire upon their enemies. There were soldiers with bows in rank upon rank, spearmen and swordsmen, in heavy armor with helms forged in the faces of monsters. There were mutant soldiers who’s skin had been burned into hardened armor and who had been driven mad with pain, commanded by drumbeats and the lash of the whip, ready to loose their berserk fury upon their enemies.

They moved west like a horde of destroying insects, gathering in columns a hundred men wide, leaving the earth behind them churned and crushed by tens of thousands of feet, by hooves and wheels and claws. They marched for the borders of Vestar, and thence westward to the Thran Kingdoms. They marched like a plague on the earth armed with teeth of steel to rend and destroy.

Above them in the blackened sky flew the Skylords, no longer mounted on their eagles, but on armored, leather-winged beasts that screamed and lashed the air with their sting-tipped tails. Lightning scarred the low clouds, sprouting from the thunderlances like trees of fire. Thunder rolled ahead of the deathly host, calling forth all in their path to flee or be slain.

o0o

Ashari sat upon her golden throne, draped in robes of scintillant color and inlaid with ten thousand jewels, so they were scaled and hard as the armor of a dragon. The crown on her head was crested and spired, made to twine and interlace with her black horns, and a great ruby blazed at her brow like a great eye.

Her hall was a place of grandeur now, attended by a thousand courtiers, each more splendidly arrayed than the last. Her kingdom overflowed with wealth and plenty from the trade that flowed through it like a river. She had spent years forging Irdru into an ever-greater nexus of learning, commerce, and travel. It was a place for scholars, artists, and seekers of all knowledge. Under her rule, it had become more grand than any legend.

Nor had she neglected the defense of her city, for she knew the world beyond. She had raised and strengthened the walls, used her wealth to pay for mercenary armies to guard it, and allied the great clans of the Horane to serve as her cavalry when the need came. Ashari never forgot the world that waited beyond the horizon, and so she was not surprised when refugees came to her, fleeing from the east beneath a cloud of blackened smoke.

They brought two men before her, the first to demand an audience, and she brushed aside the objections of her councilors that she must not meet with such undistinguished men directly. She had them bathed and fed and dressed, and then commanded them brought to her throne chamber. They looked upon her with awe, and some fear, for they knew the legends of the devil queen who ruled the dreaming city on the edge of the jeweled sea.

Fresh clothes and clean skins could not disguise the hunger and terror in their eyes, and she beckoned them. “Come, speak to me. You have been cast out and fled from great evils and death. Tell me what has occurred.”

One of them bowed before the other. “Forgive me, great lady. We are men of Arakon, the kingdom upon your most eastern boundaries. Long have we known of Irdru, but never thought to come to the shores of the sea of Azar.”

“What has become of Arakon?” she said. “Clearly some hardship has fallen upon it.”

“It is shattered, my great lady,” the other man said. “A moon ago, the barbarians who live in the forest hills on the border between Arakon and Vestar descended on us, raiding and killing, pillaging all they could take. They did not retreat to their homelands, but pressed onward, as though pursued by some terror they could not face.”

“And then came the invasion,” the first man said. “The legions of the Empire came upon us, marching forth in terrible numbers. There were so many, our armies were overcome. They have terrible weapons, and war machines such as no man has ever seen. Their soldiers fight without fear or pain, and cannot be stopped or driven back. Our defenses were broken in a day, and they began to raze our lands to ashes.”

“Most of their force has gone on southward, into Ysor,” the second man said. “But a great army has come after us, driving on those who have fled. I believe they will come here, against the Thran Kingdoms. Against you.”

Ashari closed her eyes for a moment. She had long hoped that she might live out her long life in this place immersed in luxury and pleasure and wealth. Yet part of her had always remembered what she had seen in the emperor’s secret chamber, and she had believed, deep in her heart, that this day would come.

“You have done well,” she said. “I offer you sanctuary here in my city. Take it. Go in peace and rest your spirits.” She sent the men away, looking on them with favor. They were brave men, and such men are always too few.

Then she called upon her generals and guard commanders, and bade them gather around her throne on bended knee, heads bowed, ready to obey her. “Call forth my armies,” she said. Send messengers to the Horane and bid them gather their warriors for a great bloodletting. See to the defenses of the city, and call in all the ships of my war fleet.”

“You believe they will come here?” one of her young generals asked, only to be silenced by an older man.

But Ashari only nodded. “Yes, if they are not stopped they will come here. See to the defense of the city, indeed, but also be ready to march forth. To enter our lands they must come through the Red Pass, and we will meet them there and teach them the cost of their temerity.” She thought of Shath, then, so long ago. He had also sought to teach the emperor such a lesson.

She shook off her memories. She was a greater ruler than even he had been. She would not face her greatest enemy with fear, or with hesitation. She would march to meet the oncoming war, and she would show Kurux claws of steel, and he would curse the day he met her once again.

o0o

Tathar flew over the sea, leading a flight out of the Isle of Wings to probe north over the hills and the forestland. For days now, they had seen smoke darkening the far horizons, and they had seen signs of refugees crossing their hunting grounds. No one lingered, for it was known that to dwell within sight of the isle was dangerous.

Over the years, Tathar had gathered all the young eagles and given them riders, taught human and beast to be as one in the sky, and so, from their sea-guarded fortress they went forth to hunt, and to drive the barbaric hill clans from their lands. They had harried the raiders and scavengers out of sight easily, and now they presided over an eagle’s paradise, free land for the hunt, free skies to fly in and to train.

Today Tathar bore his lance, for he scented danger upon the winds, and he wished to be ready. He had not borne it in a long time, and the weight felt strange to him. Zakai was restless beneath him as well, and he cried his war-call into the wind.

He looked back at his two flankers, both on their young birds. Lacking lances or the means to forge them, he had instead taught them to be archers from eagleback, firing long, heavy arrows from powerful bows that could strike down men or prey from the sky. He hoped he had done enough. It had been five years of training and learning, and until now, he had not dared himself to think on what he was training them to fight.

But now he saw shadows circling to the north, and he knew something had turned, the winds of his future had shifted, and the skies grew dark. He led his wing of hunters to the edge of their domain, above steep-sided hills dark with thick forests. They saw smoke rising from hidden vales, and they smelled the reek of burning flesh.

Something moved there in the dark, and he drew his riders higher in the sky as he watched it. Leathery wings spread in the hollow, and then a serpentine beast fought its way into the sky, screaming wrath to the heavens. Tathar had never seen anything like it before, and so he marked it.

It was longer than an eagle, and its wings had a wider span than all but the greatest among them. Its long body was scaled above and furred below, and the long head that ended the slithering neck bore long jaws with daggerlike teeth. Behind it, a tail swept the air in long, whiplike loops, and at the tip was a stinger with a bulbous venom gland swollen with death.

It rose toward them, screaming fury, and Tathar gestured for his followers to flank him. The lance felt light in his hand now, as though it were already made from wind and fire. He urged Zakai downward, and he screamed as he winged over into a steep dive.

They hurtled down toward the beast, and it came coiling up to meet them. Tathar watched the tail, seeing how it curled and snapped and the great reach it had, and he resolved to stay back. He raised his lance and lightning snapped from the tip, arcing across the sky, and it lashed downward. The thing darted sideways, and so the lancing fire only tattered the edge of one wing, and then it surged upward with unexpected speed.

The tail whipped outward and then stabbed in, and Zakai screamed and dropped to the side, evading it by only a narrow cut, the stinger hissing past Tathar’s side close enough to touch. He let Zakai dive and then begin to sweep upward, and when he looked back, he saw it was following them, flying faster than he would have credited. In its coils it seemed almost to dance through the air, and the keen yellow eyes glared at them fiercely.

His followers stooped down upon it, and their eagles screamed as the riders began to loose arrows upon the foe. Tathar saw long, dark shafts strike the plated armor and glance off, only two finding root, and he snarled. He saw it turn and snap its tail at one of them, only scarcely missing, and he set his hands upon the reins and pulled Zakai into a swift loop and drove right for the creature.

Distracted, it did not see him until he was almost on it, and then he aimed the thunderlance and brought blue lightning lacing through the sky. A bolt struck the nightmare head and he saw the eyes film over before flames burst from the skull and the graceful coiling became slack and dead. The wings folded, and the thing plummeted from the sky, trailing smoke.

Tathar followed it down, flying easily, letting his eagle recover. The beast impacted a hillside, shattering trees, and then it slid down to lie half in the rush of a cold stream. He drew rein and let Zakai touch down, claws gouging the black earth, screaming defiance at the empty forest where lesser birds scattered in terror.

He climbed down and went to examine the corpse, and there he saw the thing he had only glimpsed and wanted to be sure of – a harness. Leather straps were lashed tight around the serpentine body, and there was a high-backed saddle tooled from blackened hide. He saw the metal boss that held the buckle and touched it, reading there a sign he had known since he was a child. The mark of the emperor’s device worked in polished steel. He cut it loose and held it in his hand, and then he looked to the north, where shadows gathered, and he knew the seasons of peace were at an end.

o0o

Dust blew on the dawn winds in that desolate place, and the sky was bright with diamond stars. The fortress loomed on the eastern bank of the low, muddy river, only a few lights gleaming against the night. Outriders came in with the rising sun, eager to be free from the saddle and give over their task to watchers from the high tower. The red sun came up in a blaze of fire, and then the far horizon darkened and the sound of war-drums came through the still, desert air.

Men in the fortress rushed to the battlements, stunned to see a horde of riders emerge from the tatters of night. Warriors on shaggy, horned beasts rode in vast formations, drums commanding their movements, and at their head came a tall warrior in black mail, horns upon his helm, and the coming daylight gleamed on the metal of his iron right hand.

Shath rode to the edge of the river and looked across to where the fortress awaited. Here, in this corner of the earth, lay the furthest western outpost of the great empire, high on the desert’s edge, north of the Sea of Azar and the lands of Arakon. It was unimportant, and small, and yet to cross the river and take it was to begin his crusade long held in abeyance. He felt weight to the moment, a step that could not be taken back. Long years ago he had sworn war upon the emperor, and now, at last, his enemy would know of it. At last, the Black Emperor would know fear.

All around him rode his warriors, the twisted, hulking mutants known as the Urugan. They had dwelled long in the poisonous wastes on the edges of the Death Lands, but now they were gathered beneath his hand, now they were an army on the move, shaking the earth beneath the hooves of their horned beasts.

He turned as a canopied litter approached, draped in silks and borne by four heavy beasts chosen for their even tempers and perfect horns. When it was before him the curtains opened and there was Ellai, his companion for what seemed a lifetime. She had grown from a slip of a child to a slim young girl, still wide-eyed and white-skinned, still with her white wings that made the Urugan all but worship her. Gowned and robed in blue silks and glittering bits of metal, she reached out a hand and he clasped it, smiling as he rarely did.

“We are here,” he said. “The war begins today. What do you see?”

She looked beyond him, seeking with her inner eye that he had learned to trust. “There are few men here,” she said, her voice accented when speaking his tongue. “They fear you. It is not necessary that they die.”

“I will give no mercy,” he said. “You know my laws.”

“If you give no mercy, then your enemies will fight to the death. If you let them yield, then you need not kill so many to take your victory,” she said. She looked at him, and there was a strength in her dark eyes that he rarely opposed.

“I have come to kill them,” he said. “It is what I seek.”

“You must decide, then,” she said. “Are you come to conquer an empire, or destroy it? You must choose that path today.”

“And you would choose conquest,” he said.

“I would not choose war, you know that,” she said. “You were born for war, as are the Urugan. I was not.”

“No, you were made for gentler things,” he said. He felt the slenderness of her fingers, the delicacy of the bones.

“And shall I have them?” she said, a small smile almost teasing him.

“You shall,” he said.

“Then you have indeed chosen,” she said. She released his hand and sat back in her cushions, wrapping herself in her wings. “Go and take what you would have, and do not falter.”

He watched as she closed the curtains of her litter, and then he turned and gestured to his commanders. The war-drums beat, and the hosts arrayed themselves for attack. “Go forth and take the keep,” he said. “If any yield, take them alive.”

The bowed to him, and rode back to their warriors. The Urugan war-shout went up from thousands of tusked mouths, and then a wave of ravening savagery charged across the shallow rivulet of the river, and rushed upon the walls of the keep.

Shath watched as they battered down the gate, and then the Urugan flooded into the fortress. He heard the clash and screams of battle, and he saw men hurled from the walls to their deaths on the rocks below. The men of the legions fought, but they were overwhelmed, and by the time the sun was clear of the horizon, red as an eye, Shath’s horned battle standard was planted on the walls.

He rode forward then, his steed wading through the shallow, muddy water until he crossed to the other side. For the first time in five years, Shath set foot upon the soil of the empire, and he lifted up his iron fist to the skies and hurled his challenge against the distant throne. Now would come a reckoning of kingdoms, a reckoning drowned in blood.