The King of the Fallen by David Dalglish

Author:David Dalglish
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eschaton Press

17

The excitement that spread throughout the army was palpable. Aurelia couldn’t deny feeling it herself. She marched alongside her husband, as ever near the front of the teeming mass. The hills steadily flattened as the terrain shifted closer to the grasslands of Mordeina. To head directly toward the capital after fleeing it mere weeks before was almost hard to believe, but multiple scouts from Ahaesarus’s army had been coordinating with theirs, which hopefully would lead to an eventual meeting of forces. Rumor had it they would officially link up tomorrow.

“It’s gonna be so damn nice,” Harruq said. Sweat trickled from his forehead as he marched. Winter might have been approaching, but it hadn’t arrived yet, and her husband’s armor wasn’t ideal for travel.

“What will?” she asked.

“Letting someone else be in charge.”

Aurelia brushed her fingers across his neck, whispering faint words of magic. Frost wafted off her fingers, blue mist curled about his head. He shivered from the cold, then blew a kiss her way.

“Thanks,” he said, his face losing a little bit of redness.

They stopped to rest at midday, though none appeared eager to linger, unlike previous days. Aurelia crafted a trio of chairs out of lumps of earth for Harruq, Tarlak, and herself to sit in, positioned a few hundred feet away from the rest of the army. Sitting back, she watched all those soldiers filling their own bellies, some wearing expectant grins on their faces.

She prayed their optimism wasn’t unfounded. From what they’d learned, Ahaesarus had approximately four hundred angels flying under his command, along with six thousand beast-men he’d forcibly conscripted. The how or why remained elusive, since none of the scouts were willing to reveal more information than the fact that the beast-men were fierce fighters and could be trusted to obey.

Obey. Aurelia’s stomach twisted, and it had nothing to do with the bland biscuits she forced herself to eat. She knew the beast-men had crossed the Gihon River on a mission of conquest. Ahaesarus had taken one-third of his angels to the Castle of the Yellow Rose to oppose them, and that act had spared them the curse Ashhur inflicted upon Azariah and the rest of their kind. Preliminary reports suggested that rescue had come far too late, however. Hundreds of innocents, slain. If that were the case, why did the beast-men travel with the angels? Were they prisoners? Slaves? Or was Ahaesarus willing to overlook their slaughter if they fought in his name?

“Looks like we’ve got another messenger,” Harruq said. He pointed to a distant pair of white wings. “Coming in every few hours now. Bet even Ahaesarus is excited to see us.”

“I’ll signal him over,” Tarlak said, having already finished his meal. He stood, clapped his hands together, and then lifted them skyward. A bolt of flame shot from his fingertips, showering multi-colored sparks every direction. It was a far less dangerous, and much more showy, spell than one he might use in battle. The angelic scout noticed and veered toward them.

“We go days without any word, and now you bug us every other hour,” Tarlak said once the angel landed.

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