Destiny (3 page)

Location Irlendria / Nessa Manitou:

Even though Nessa slept, her soul began to shiver at the approach of the Thunderbird. Although its beating wings sounded like thunder rolling across the plains in the physical world, it was neither living nor dead, but a creature of the spirit realm.

The various tribes of the plains had many different names for the messenger of the God Luonnotar. The people of the Thunder Tribes named it the ‘Wakinyan’ or ‘Death Messenger’. As the Thunderbird’s black shadow fell across her sleeping form, Nessa trembled as she felt the biting cold of the grave seep into her bones. The creature’s otherworldly presence filled her heart with dread as she silently prayed to be free of this never ending nightmare.

How many times would the Wakinyan haunt her sleep?

How many times must she relive her brother’s death?

Tears began streaming down her face as she felt the Thunderbird’s massive claws fastened around her greater torso. With a ferocious shriek, it launched itself into the night’s sky with her soul held firmly in its bony grip.

Normally, the moonless night would have hidden the plains below in its cloak of darkness, but in the spirit realm, there was neither day nor night, just a white glow that removed all shadows. With grim acceptance, Nessa watched the rolling plains swiftly stream by beneath her dangling hooves as Wakinyan carried her towards the Great Forest at the edge of the plains.

Already in the distance, she could see her brother’s Patrol approaching the small group of Elves near the forest’s edge. Unconcerned, Tolnik held his bow upside down over his head in greeting as he approached the Forest Elf Leader.

For centuries, the Elves had been the Tribes of the Plains longtime allies. The two races shared similar beliefs of living with the land and regularly traded small goods whenever they met. Also, earlier in times of War, they’d fought together as allies against the Tuonellian hordes.

Many of the Tribe thought it a good omen to meet the reclusive forest dwellers. Good fortune or not, Elven goods held high value throughout the plains. Nessa could already see the warriors of the patrol quickly rifling through their packs in preparation for the intense trading session that always occurred at a meeting of the two peoples. Although, with ten Centaurs to every Elf, she imagined the trading would have been in the Elves favor.

This time as she relived her brother’s memories, Nessa studied the Elves closely as the Wakinyan soared directly overhead. Lower and lower it circled and still she couldn’t see anything out of place, wait … Nessa’s body went ridged as the realization hit her. Where were the Elves tinnearlian-wood bows? Forest Elves never went anywhere without their great bows!

Concentrating, she made a mental note of the odd fact as the scene continued playing on as always without stopping. This time, Nessa swore she would find the answer as to why the Luonnotar’s messenger continued to drag her soul back to this same point in time every night. There must be a reason other than her brother’s death gift!

She knew the tribes stories as well as any shaman. Never before in her people’s history had such an event been recorded in the ancient songs. As the Thunderbird carried her soul into her brother’s body, Nessa heard the cries of shock as the Elves brutally attacked her people. Immediately her brother went down as the Elven Leader shattered his front legs with one savage strike. All around her, Nessa saw Centaurs dying as the Elves nearest to them ripped out their guts before they knew what was happening.

Unbelievably, she watched the nearest Elf lift one of her Tribe brother’s high into the air as its arm stretched out to an impossible length. As the Centaur helplessly struggled in the iron grip, the Elf’s other arms grabbed a hold of one of the Centaur’s flailing legs. With a powerful yank, it ripped the limb out from the roots, before tossing it away gleefully. While the warrior screamed in agony, the Elf reached for the next flailing limb.

Dropping everything the rest of the patrol rushed forward to attack. Throughout all Irlendria, Centaurs were considered fearsome warriors. Their strength and endurance were legendary. Unlike many races where only the males fought, in the Tribes of the Plains, everyone was a warrior.

Whipping out their tinnearlian-wood maces, Nessa’s watched as her Tribe’s brothers and sisters raised their heavy two-handed weapons above their heads. With screeching war cries, they threw themselves at the Elves without hesitation. The two-handed maces were a perfect match for their powerful bodies. The thick tinnearlian-wood was nearly indestructible and had been her people’s traditional weapons for centuries.

In horror, Nessa watched the creatures’ shrug of her peoples’ assault as if it were nothing. At first, she thought the weapons were having no effect against the Elves, but slowly she realized that was not the case. Her people’s weapons were leaving terrible wounds, but the monsters were simply ignoring the ruinous injuries in their blood lust. Here and there Nessa saw an Elf go down, but it wasn’t enough. Her people were dying too quickly.

Flinging the dying Centaur away, Nessa watched the first Elf grabbed the next closest warrior. As the taloned hand locked around the young male’s throat, the creature’s other hand ripped the struggling warrior’s arm completely out of its socket.

Forcing herself not to look away, Nessa watched as the Elves viciously slaughtered her people. All around her, she saw the blood and guts of her Tribe’s warriors scattered across the plain. When the last member of the patrol had fallen, there were still seven of the abominations left out of the ten that had initially attacked her people. This time, she saw what she had previously missed. It was possible to kill these creatures!

Nessa watched as the Elves slowly approached where she laid inside her Brother’s destroyed body. She could feel Tolnik’s terror as the Leader looked down at him with a wicked gleam in its eyes. As it kneeled next to him, Nessa tasted her brother’s fear as he watched the Elf’s long fingers transform into sharp claws. A second later, she found out why.

Nessa’s screams joined that of her brother’s in agony as his pain became her own. To her growing horror, she felt her flesh slowly being ripped off of her hide in long strips as the creature began eating Tolnik alive. Again and again, she screamed out from her brother’s torment until her voice was a hoarse whisper and still she screamed. She screamed in darkness as the creature plucked out the eyes from her brother’s head and still the suffering did not end. Nessa didn’t stop screaming until her brother’s still beating heart was ripped from his chest. Only then did the terrible agony finally end.

Slowly the light returned as Nessa felt her soul soaring into the sky once more. As the Thunderbird returned her soul back to her cold body, Nessa forced herself to remember every detail of her brother’s grisly death. There had to be something she was missing! As Wakinyan rose to leave, Nessa froze as the realization suddenly hit her.

Above her, the Thunderbird’s massive head bend down to look at her as Nessa remembered the last thing she’d seen before the eyes were plucked from her brother’s head. The Elf’s face had been transforming into the likeness of her brother! Understanding flared through her as she met the Wakinyan steady gaze. This time, she knew the spirit creature would not be coming back for her.

Chapter
Four

Location Irlendria / Tiberius Decius Lupus:

“LUPUS … LUPUS … LUPUS”

The roar of the crowd was overwhelming as the procession made its way into the Capital City of Gravida. As they passed through the Arch of Akras, the sound hit like a blast of thunder. Flicking an ear in annoyance, Tiberius paused before the capital’s cheering citizens.

It was normal for a city to welcome returning commanders from a successful campaign, but this was the first time a Legion had been sent against a city of the Imperium. Luckily, Tiberius had managed to resolve this situation without violence to its citizens, but if things didn’t change soon, the situation was only going to get worse. Tiberius had never seen such a clustered mess like this before. Everywhere he looked the causeway was chocked full of screaming people. As the bulls of his personal guard shift into a protective formation around him, Tiberius scanned the plaza over their heads flathoofed.

What was going on? Normally the First and Second Legions were in charge of keeping order in the Capital of the Imperium. It had been that way since the Imperium was formed. Now there wasn’t a legionnaire in sight! A sinking feeling hit Tiberius’ stomach; something was terribly wrong.

Looking over his shoulder, Tiberius gazed out at his Legion standing in formation before the massive city gates. Once again he wished they were marching at his back. With Paiva’s golden light reflecting off of their Lorica Segmented armor and their horned heads held high, Tiberius had to admit they were a formidable looking site.

The Thirteenth was his Legion. Each of his legionnaires carried a double-headed battle-axe slung across their armored backs, while rune powered Wolf Gauntlets covered their thick muscular arms to the elbow. Even though battle-axes were his people’s traditional weapon, the scutum shield wall and gladius blade built into the gauntlets had become synonymous with the Imperium’s Legions since the beginning of the Tuonellian War.

Flexing his meaty hands to release his building tension, Tiberius felt the comforting weight of his gauntlets. The Thirteenth deserved more thanks than this for quelling the rebellion in Tulskana. Not to be left standing before the city’s walls like honorless nafda. Not to mention, Tiberius would have felt better having them standing at his back when he met his father.

Unfortunately his father’s commands had been clear on that point. The Thirtheenth would wait before the city’s gates. Catching Commander Mettius Scipio’s eyes, the third in command over the Legion, Tiberius raised his fist silently overhead. In answer, the entire Legion immediately clenched their right fists as they thumped their chest in salute to the young prince. With his back straight, Tiberius faced the crowd once more as his tail lashed behind him with nervous energy. Squaring his broad shoulders, he gave Centurion Vitruvius Aquila, the Commander of his personal guard, a sharp nod to continue.

Immediately the two decanuses of Tiberius’ personal guards stepped out forming a protective wedge around him. Each decanus lead a contumbernium numbering eight bulls strong. Moving as one unit, they strode into the swirling press of people. The tumultuous sound became a deafening roar as it reverberated off the concrete buildings that lined the plaza as they headed for the great causeway leading to the heart of the capital. As they moved through the crowd, the city’s citizens pressed forward seeking to touch the tips of his curved horns for luck.

Tiberius’s legionnaires did a valiant job keeping back the young bulls, old cows and grizzly veterans that pressed in around them, but that was not the case for the buxom heifers that sought his attention. Before Tiberius knew what was happening, voluptuous heifers were hanging garlands of flowers around his neck as they pressed their soft bodies against his armored chest. One heifer, in particular, caught his attention.

Ducking under Centurion Vitruvius Aquila’s outstretched arms. She appeared to him as a vision of beauty with her curvaceous hips, tawny white and brown fur, small feminine horns and large brown eyes. Sliding her luscious body against him, she pressed her lips to his ear.

“Regulus Lupus, you must save your people!” Whipping his head back, Tiberius took a careful look at the beauty in his arms. In shock, he recognized the symbol of a Holy Seeress hanging around her neck.

“Your Father seeks to destroy the Imperium!” A look of anxiety crossed her beautiful face as the flow of the crowd began pulling her away. Clinging to Tiberius’s broad neck with both slender arms, she spoke in a rush of words.

“He is not what he seems; you must be …” With a scream of frustration, she was yanked from his neck as another young heifer thrust herself into his arms.

Tiberius tried to pull the Seeress back, but it was too late. She was instantly lost in the crowd. Feeling a wet kiss on his cheek, Tiberius turned around to perky breasts being shoved into his muzzle as the new heifer hung garlands over his horns. A second later she disappeared back into the crowd as more soft arms reached out for him.

The scent of females ready to breed was thick in the air as Tiberius felt his blood beginning to burn in his veins at the press of so much feminine flesh. The garlands of Tennessean blooms were aphrodisiacs for his people. Young heifers gave them to prospective males as a symbol of their readiness to mate.

Light headed, the urge to rut was nearly overwhelming as Tiberius focused his thoughts grimly on the task at hand. Around him, he saw the flaring nostrils of his guards as they fought their individual battles against their primitive desires. Like him, they knew now was not the time to lose control. There was too much at stake. Just when Tiberius thought he could hold out no longer, the flow of heifers began to fade as they reach the far side of the plaza. Entering into the main causeway, they began making their way to the heart of the capital as Tiberius sighed in relief.

Minotaur society celebrated their warriors. For his people, there was no higher calling than serving in the legions, and family herds were always looking to improve their bloodlines. A daughter capturing the eye of a returning legionnaire was an honorable way for females to find a new mate.

It wasn’t that Tiberius was against the impromptu orgies that occurred when legions returned from successful campaigns. Like any male, he enjoyed servicing the willing heifers as much as the next bull. More importantly, the tradition served to help his people recover their terrible losses from the Tuonellian War.

No, the problem was the missive Tiberius had received shortly before their arrival. The command had been short and to the point. “Under orders of the Emperor, Tiberius was to leave the Thirteenth Legion outside the city’s walls and go to the Emperor’s Square with utmost haste.”

Tiberius had felt a cold sinking feeling deep in his gut when he read the message. Ever since the breakup of the Alliance of Aurenko, his father had begun acting strangely. His mother had fought valiantly against her husband’s worsening condition, but to no avail. It seemed like nothing could hold back the people’s growing unrest that was slowly tearing apart the Imperium.

Following the mysterious death of Tiberius’s mother earlier this year, his father had gone completely insane. The decrees coming from the Imperial Palace only seemed to be making the political situation, even more, unstable. Just when Tiberius had thought it couldn’t get any worse, the Provence of Tulskana had risen in rebellion against the Emperor with rumbles of more cities threatening to follow.

As they entered the Emperor’s Square at the center of the capital, Tiberius thoughts were jolted back to the present as a callused hand gripped his shoulder tightly. Passing through a line of Praetorian Guards, the press of the crowds gave away as Centurion Vitruvius Aquila hissed urgently in his ear.

“Legatus, there are only the Emperor’s Praetorians left in the city.”

Scowling at the title, Tiberius followed the Centurion’s gaze. Aquila had been like a father to him for all of these years, but still the stubborn old bull refused to call him by his first name. As Tiberius scanned the troops standing in formation around the square, Aquila continued in a harsh whisper.

“What happened to the First and Second Legions?”

For a long second, Tiberius met the old bull’s alarmed eyes as they both considered the implications. It could only mean things were even worse than they had feared. Grimly, Tiberius gave the signal for the column to form up as Aquila’s brusque commands rang out in the plaza.

“Legionnaires form-up, lead first!”

As the column of bulls opened up, Tiberius moved forward to take his rightful place at the head of the column with Centurion Aquila at his side. Behind him, each of his two contuberniums of eight legionaries, led by a Decanus, formed up behind them a double column.

The first contubernium, holding his best soldiers, was led by Decanus Cornisus. The smallest and toughest bull Tiberius had ever met. Covered with a black coat of long, course fur, Cornisus was a natural born scrapper with a scarred body and broken horns that bespoke hardships that gave even the most hardened warriors pause.

Tiberius’s second contubernium held his next best warriors. Its leader, Decanus Marcellus, was almost the complete physical opposite of the first contubernium’s leader. Although Marcellus was considered a “pretty bull” with his fine light-tan fur and comely muzzle, he was a brilliant tactician and the youngest male ever to hold the rank of Decanus.

Focusing his thoughts once again on the group waiting at the center of the square, Tiberius noticed even more oddities. None of the Praetorian Guards wore tinnearlian gauntlets or Lorica Segmentata armor. Even stranger yet, they carried actual rectangular shields and heavy spears for their primary weapons and armor made from ironidium of all things. The Imperium hadn’t outfitted their warriors with that since before the Great War with the Tuonellians. Although the Golden Wolf of the Royal House and the standards of the Emperor’s Praetorian Guards rose above the sea of horns before him, oddly enough the pennant of the Imperium was missing. In its place was something Tiberius had never seen before.

Looking closer, Tiberius realized it was a carved image of his father’s bust. With growing apprehension, Tiberius came to attention before the Commander at the center of the plaza as he brought his fist across his chest in salute.

“Legatus Tiberius Decius Lupus reporting as ordered to the Emperor!”

For a long moment, the Commander looked Tiberius over with obvious disdain before addressing him with open contempt. “You were specifically ordered to leave your legionnaires outside the city walls. Why have you disobeyed the Emperor’s edict?”

Tiberius immediately felt the blood surge through his veins at the Commander’s informal address. Narrowing his eyes dangerously, he took a step close to the smaller male. Behind him, he heard the distinctive clink of metal as his personal guards tensed for action. “My legion was left outside the city’s walls as commanded!”

Waving a gauntleted hand at the men behind Tiberius, the Praetorian Commander snorted in contempt. “An obvious lie, otherwise you wouldn’t have legionnaires standing behind you.”

Looking down his long muzzle, Tiberius grabbed the obnoxious male by the front of his armored collar bellowing. “You witless nafda, they are my personal guards!”

Instead of showing fear, the Commander only laughed in contempt. “What a dumb beast, admitting you have broken yet another edict from the Emperor. You of all people should know ignorance is no excuse for breaking the law.”

“All private guards have been banned throughout the Imperium.” With surprising ease, the smaller bull effortlessly shoved Tiberius away from him. Raising his voice, the Commander continued contemptuously. “Your soldiers will lay their arms down and leave immediately, or I will have their heads put on spikes around this plaza!”

Tiberius had spent almost his entire life surrounded by his personal guards. Every one of his bulls had become a member of his household on the day of his birth when they took their oath of fidelity. Without looking behind him, Tiberius knew that they would fight to the death before relinquishing the means to protect his life.

“I am the son of the Emperor and next in line for the throne. The Senate itself has sanctioned the Royal Family to have their personal guardians present at all times. You will ...”

With a bellow, the smaller male overrode Tiberius words. “There is no more Senate!” Seeing the stunned look on Tiberius’s face, the Commander smiled darkly. “Nor will there be any more of these traitorous legions left running around the Imperium.” Before Tiberius could respond, a deep baritone cut them both off.

“I think that’s enough discussion, for now, Commander Brutus.”

Looking up at the sound, Tiberius froze as he saw the apparition of his father, Emperor Manius Decius Lupus, standing before him. Physically, it looked like his father, but at the same time, it was nothing like his father. The once white robes hanging from his gaunt shoulders were now filthy, stained with chunks of some unidentifiable rotting flesh while dried encrusted blood matted the course fur of his long muzzle. His father’s once bright brown eyes now looked like dark sunken holes burnt into the center of his skull. There was no longer the decisive proud bull Tiberius had loved and admired as a young bullock. Instead, there was only madness. Before Tiberius couldn’t find his voice, his father lips curled in disgust.

“You have been a great disappointment, Tiberius.” Slowly pacing back and forth, his father began ranting. “I sent you to quell the rebellion in Tulskana. Instead of killing the rebels as I commanded, you imprison my Praetorian Legatus and let those traitorous beasts live. Now, after bringing disgrace upon our house, these miserable creatures have the audacity to celebrate your return as if you were some returning hero.” His father stopped suddenly as his red-rimmed eyes bore into Tiberius. “Now I’m stuck cleaning up your mess!”