Fallen Empire

“And, who have you chosen?”

  Her question surprised him. The way her smile faded as she waited for an answer did nothing but make him uncomfortable. Why was she looking at him in that way?

  He shrugged, annoyed that she’d even intruded on his quest for solitude.

  “No one.”

  She pursed her lips and nodded. “Well,” she said. “Your father must be worried. You’ll need to pick someone soon, before the blood moon.”

  “Who says?”

  “Tradition says so. You know that. Don’t tell me you never think about it. I’m sure your father was thrilled to have chosen Princess Patra from the Crosi Clan. Oh, wait. Is that what you’re waiting for? A princess?”

  His mood darkened, and he stood. Without a word, he left the table and made his way away from the wedding celebration.

  “Where are you going?” Astrid called after him.

  He ignored her. He would have tolerated her a while longer if she hadn’t said those words. Bringing up his mother was unacceptable.

  The sounds of the celebration faded into the distance as he stumbled into the woods under the cloak of night. Winter was over, but the nights still had a distinct chill in the air. He didn’t mind. He wore a warm cloak over his pants and tunic. He trudged down to the lake and settled down on the smooth gray stones that lined the calm body of water. The moon shone its light on the serene lake, casting its regal reflection on the still water. It was magical.

  He sighed and looked across the lake to the dark woods on the other side. Was it wrong that he’d rather be out there in the wild, hunting and living a free life?

  Was there something wrong with him that he didn’t find any of the women in town worthy to make his wife? Father already began putting pressure on him to choose someone, but this wasn’t something he took lightly. This was for life. Wolves chose one mate, and stayed with them until death.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Death was what tore his family apart. Death was what took his mother in the most cowardly of ways. Wolves weren’t supposed to die in their sleep. They were hunters. They were supposed to die in battle, with honor. Not from a plague that killed the infected from the inside out.

  He hated that those last images of his mother insisted on haunting him. The way her beautiful skin had been marred by boils and raised purple welts. The blood and pus that oozed from them toward the end. The way she would cry at night when the house was asleep.

  Kylan never slept during those last days. He’d lay there in bed, starring at the ceiling with tears in his eyes, praying for the cries to stop.

  Wiping his eyes, he looked over the lake. The memories were too fresh. She’d died only two years ago, and he thought of her every single day.

  The silence of the forest soothed him, but his muscles tensed when he felt that he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder with a frown, and both brows rose when a woman emerged from the darkness of the trees.

  She wore white, and had black hair that was cut short like a boys. Though her hair was shorter than any woman he’d ever encountered, her face was that of a goddess. As she approached, he slowly came to his feet.

  Her skin was darker than the pale women of the Fjord realm, and her eyes were brown with hints of gold. She glowed under the moon’s light, and wore a smile on her heart-shaped face.

  “Kylan son of Davyn,” she whispered in a voice that was like a sweet melody. “I’ve been watching you for some time.”

  He swallowed. “Who are you?”

  Though she was beautiful, he feared her taking another step toward him.

  How could a beautiful woman frighten him more than a man with a sword? He realized the answer almost immediately.

  She was a Mage.

  No, more than that. As she stepped closer, light began to shine from inside of her body and out through a series of intricate lines all over her skin.

  She wasn’t just as beautiful as a goddess.

  She was a goddess.

  “That’s right,” she said, with a knowing smile. She nodded to him. “I am Enit, the Goddess of Fate.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  He gasped when she appeared less than an inch from his face. She was much taller than he’d expected, a full foot taller, and though slender, had toned arms that looked to be hard as stone.

  She looked him over, smiling as she touched his hair. “You are the one I’ve been searching for. Clever little one.”

  Their bodies touched and before he could speak another word, she kissed his forehead, and the world went black.

  13

  Kylan woke to Enit sitting next to him with her legs crossed under her white gown. She watched as he scrambled to sit up. While he righted himself, his head buzzed and his vision was blurry.

  “Take your time. You’ve been given a gift. It will need a moment to adjust to your body.”

  He touched his chest, feeling a faint vibration that shook his entire frame. “What did you do to me?”

  “I gave you the Kiss of Enit Arue,” she said. She leaned forward a little. “I’ve awakened your rune spirit. Have you heard of it?”

  He hated to admit that he was never a fan of scholarly studies. The gods were just faceless characters from childhood stories to him.

  “I can’t say that I have,” he said, twisting his mouth.

  “That’s fine,” she said with an amused smile. “I didn’t pick you for your knowledge of my people or our powers. I picked you because you are strong, loyal, and brave.”

  He lifted himself up to his elbows. “What does any of that have to do with anything?”

  “I have a mission for you,” she said.

  “Tell me what you’ve done to me first.”

  “I’ve enhanced your abilities.”

  Silence filled the air as he searched her face. Was this truly happening, or had he gotten so drunk that he was hallucinating or having a truly strange dream?

  “You’re not dreaming.”

  Brilliant. He gulped. “You’re reading my mind, aren’t you?”

  Her smile widened, but she nodded.

  “That’s just perfect,” he grumbled, running his hands through his hair. He made a mental note not to think anything too embarrassing. “What do you need me to do?”

  She came to her knees and narrowed her eyes at him. “There is a girl. I want you to find her and take her as your mate.”

  His face paled. He blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me correctly. I want you to claim her as your mate. Your eternal companion.”

  “Why?”

  “Why is not important.”

  He raised a brow. “It is to me. You want me to essentially give my life to a woman I’ve never met.”

  “What if I told you she was beautiful?”

  He scoffed. “There are plenty of beautiful girls in town.”

  “And yet, you would never choose any of them to be your mate.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know that you are waiting. Waiting for someone special, someone you won’t find in Wregard.”

  She was right, but he wouldn’t say it. “Damn.” She knew his every thought.

  A soft laugh escaped her perfect lips, but her laugh was cut off when someone called from the trees. Her face went serious, and before his eyes, she shifted into an eagle and flew into the night.

  “Kylan?” Vidar called. He stumbled from the forest and spotted him. With arms outstretched, he quickened his speed. “What are you doing out here? The party is back—” he spun and fell over, then pointed to the sky. “—Back that way.”

  Kylan searched for Enit, but she was nowhere to be found. He came to his feet and went to his fallen friend. “You’re drunk.”

  “I am,” he said with a grin, his speech slurred. “As I should be. Why aren’t you?”

  “I was,” he mumbled. Too bad meeting goddesses is so sobering.

  “Were you talking to someone out here?” Vidar asked, his brows furrowed.

  “No,”
he said. “Just asking myself how my best friend got so lucky. Stole the luck right from under me.”

  “Ah, I’m just a simple man who wants a simple life.”

  “More like a boring one,” Kylan said. “But, who am I to judge?”

  “Aye, may be boring to you, but I grew up with nine brothers and sisters. There’s something beautiful about a big family. That’s what I want.”

  “I wouldn’t know much about that. I’m the only child in my family. Makes sense that I prefer battle. With my Wolf brothers by my side, that’s all the family I need.”

  “I know. Such a shame about your mother.”

  Kylan shook his head. “Don’t bring her up.”

  Clearing his throat, Vidar gave a single nod. “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done. I won’t forget it.”

  Kylan helped Vidar stand and patted him on the back. “I know you won’t. I’m happy for you.”

  “I never thought I’d hear you say it. I always thought you were against love. Just a warrior to the core,” Vidar said with a smirk. He looked to the lake. “You’ll choose a mate one day.”

  Kylan nodded, and ushered Vidar back through the forest and toward his wedding party.

  Or, have one chosen for me.

  As they emerged from the forest, Kylan’s blood ran cold as he spotted something flying right for the town square.

  “Get these people out of here,” he shouted to Vidar as he ran for his sword and shield. “Firedrake!”

  That one word got the attention of everyone within range. Like true born warriors, they stopped what they were doing and instead of panicking, went for their weapons. He was proud to be amongst them. His people were not afraid. They faced danger head on, had since the beginning of time.

  If they’d have been regular men and women, they might have felt fear from those beasts.

  Kylan’s jaw clenched.

  But, they were not regular men and women.

  He snatched his sword from its spot and prepared to slay the beasts, until he looked upward once again.

  There wasn’t just one firedrake.

  His eyes narrowed.

  He counted seven flying their way, and felt his blood run hot with rage.

  Many were going to die that night, and it wasn’t going to be his people.

  Kylan drew his sword. Then, he realized there was no use fighting with sword and shield. Not when firedrakes were around. When he saw that the firedrakes were being ridden by men, he realized that this changed everything. Many of the men and women were intoxicated. Still, they gathered together with their weapons and prepared for a fight.

  “What better way than to honor your wedding day than with a battle?” Kylan said to Vidar as he stood by his side.

  Nodding, Vidar’s expression darkened. He knocked an arrow and lifted a brow. “That one,” he said, pointing the arrow at one of the firedrakes. “It’s the one I shot.”

  Kylan followed his gaze. He was right. The firedrake was being ridden by a cloaked human. Her eye was sealed shut, but it didn’t seem to slow her down.

  “This is surreal,” he said as he watched the human riders hold onto reigns like they were riding horses on a summer day. No one in Wregard had ever seen a firedrake being ridden by a person. Such a thing was only ever heard of in tales and legends, stories from back east where the people had dark skin and commanded magic. Tales from when dragons had been ridden by their masters.

  “They’re Mages,” Vidar said.

  “What?” Kylan looked from his friend to the riders.

  The sky lit up with the flames of the firedrakes and blue fire from the palms of the riders.

  Vidar was right.

  The destroyers of empires. The bringers of death.

  Kylan’s blood turned cold as he realized who those riders were.

  The Brotherhood.

  14

  Heart pounding with adrenaline, Kylan ran toward the firedrakes. Nothing was more sobering than the threat of imminent death. He ground his teeth and refused to see any of his people fall to these cowardly raiders. It was dishonorable to meet in combat where your opponent couldn’t reach you. But, they were in for a surprise.

  While Vidar’s arrows raced through the air and found their target’s glowing core, he lifted his sword, and used all the energy within to leap into the sky.

  Mages might have magic running through their veins. But, the people of Wregard had it within their souls. It coursed like blood and gave them strength and agility humans or Mages could never imagine unless faced with one in battle.

  This was that battle.

  His people took to the air with battle cries. Flames met flesh, and steel met bone as the warriors of Wregard fought for their lives and their town.

  Clan leader, Davyn, shouted commands from the tower. His sword glowed in the darkness as he swung and sliced the head of a firedrake off with one move. It was then that the firedrakes and their riders realized that this would not be an easy feat, and that the people had a special trait most humans did not.

  Curious enough, they were resistant to fire.

  Sometimes a curse had its perks.

  While the flames did damage to their homes, the Wregardians were unharmed, and Kylan was about to show them why.

  As he leaped into the sky, his body bent and every bone in his body broke and reshaped itself into a new form within the time it took to go airborne.

  He stretched his black wings, and let out a deafening roar that shook the earth below and struck fear into the riders, and their mindless beasts.

  Kylan wasn’t a man. Though, he knew what it was like to masquerade as one. He also knew what it was like to fly free and blow fire from his lungs.

  Kylan was a dragon, with sharp teeth, gray and black scales that glistened under the moonlit sky, and a tail that whipped out to knock one of the riders from the back of a firedrake and far into the forest.

  He looked to his people and gave a single command.

  “Assemble,” he shouted, and every man and woman shifted into their dragon form.

  It was clear—as the dragons mobilized and took formation before the intruders—that the riders had stumbled upon the wrong village. They’d inadvertently entered the lair of the last living dragons.

  Faster than any full or half-blooded dragon, and bigger, Kylan was destined to lead the clan one day. It was in his blood to do so. The feeling of being a beast was exhilarating. He’d only been able to make the change for a year, and had already mastered the skill. It was his calling to be a great dragon, and to protect everyone in the clan. It was a heavy responsibility, and one that Kylan looked forward to with excitement.

  He chuckled inwardly as the riders realized they would have to use every magic spell they could fathom in order to have a chance at winning. And, when they did, he blew red flames and killed three before they could cast.

  He shifted back into his human form and slid across the ground to grab his sword and shield. Casters were slow. It took time to build the right spell and to add enough energy to it. He knew this from his mother’s stories from when he was a child. She’d grown up close to Skal, a town in Kjos, where many Mages lived, and she told him exciting tales she’d heard or stories about things she’d seen every night before he went to bed.

  And so, while they stood there, hands hovering in the air and collecting energy, he rammed his sword into the belly of one Mage who screamed like a woman in childbirth. Withdrawing his sword, he watched the man bleed from the mouth and double over onto his face.

  Blood dripped from Kylan’s sword as he peered down with hatred at the man. Not even a satisfying fight. Was magic all they knew?

  Disappointing.

  Another ran at him with a tall scepter that glowed blue like the ocean under a sunrise.

  Kylan spun and separated the Mage’s head from his body.

  A battle cry came from behind and Kylan turned and stabbed another cloaked man in the gut. He dropped his dagger and clutched Kylan’s face in his
hands. “Dirty dog. You will regret this.”

  A surge of heat came from the Mage’s palms and slammed into Kylan’s face. But, to his surprise and that of the Mage, the energy simply absorbed into his body and illuminated him.

  Like a god.

  The Mage’s eyes widened, and then lost their light.

  “Will I?” Kylan asked, gritting his teeth. He lifted the Mage by the sword and crimson blood gushed from his mouth as the blade slid deeper until Kylan’s knuckles were flush with his ribcage. Then, he tossed him to the side, and onto his decapitated comrade.

  He rolled his shoulders and caught his breath. A rush of vitality pumped through his veins as the sounds of dying men surrounded him. He could do this for hours.

  Something new was happening. He looked down at his skin which glowed like the rays of the sun. Something remarkable.

  The Kiss of Enit Arue.

  “That’s the last of those dumb enough to meet us in battle on the ground,” Davyn, his father said as he approached. “The others have fled.”

  “Shame, really,” Kylan said, the glow from his skin fading. “I was just getting started.”

  Davyn narrowed his eyes as he looked at him. “What was that?”

  Kylan feigned ignorance. He blinked. “What was what?”

  Davyn searched his eyes, skeptically. Then, breathed in and nodded to the dead bodies scattered all over the ground. “Burn them all.”

  In a heavy wool cloak lined with fur, Davyn approached with a war hammer at his side. His blond hair was as long as his beard, and braided, while Kylan kept his short and his face shaven. Davyn knelt to the ground and picked up the severed head by the hair. His eyes narrowed.

  “This one has the Mark of Cannan. He will rise again with the next moon unless he is burnt and his ashes are scattered.”

  Kylan wiped his sword clean on his fur cloak and held it at his side. He grimaced at the symbol on the back of the dead man’s head. A star with an X in the center. “You can’t be serious. I thought that was just folklore.”

  “Most folklore comes from a place of truth,” his father said, standing and dusting his hands. “They are cursed men. With some Mages, you never know when they’ll rise from behind and slit your throat. Burn them.”