An Empire in Runes (The Runes of Issalia Book 3) Read online

  An Empire in Runes

  The Runes of Issalia, Book III

  Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  © Copyright Jeffrey L. Kohanek 2017

  Published by Black Rose Writing

  www.blackrosewriting.com

  © 2017 by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

  First digital version

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61296-860-5

  PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING

  www.blackrosewriting.com

  Print edition produced in the United States of America

  For maps, charts, and illustrations from the world of Issalia,

  visit www.JeffreyLKohanek.com.

  I hope you enjoy the book.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map of Issalia

  PROLOGUE

  Part I: Towers of Courage

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  PART II: Machinations

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  PART III: The Slightest Things

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  PART IV: Revelations

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  PART V: The Hero Inside

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  A Note from the Author

  Black Rose Writing Info

  PROLOGUE

  Captain Garrett Pularus passed through the gate, giving a brief nod to the men stationed there. They responded with salutes, the metal plates that adorned their leather armor clanking noisily. Garrett paused and glanced to the west so he could gaze upon the busy harbor a half-mile away. Men scurried about the docks as they loaded ships with the spoils they had found within the Citadel. His focus shifted to the horizon, where he spotted distant sails crossing the Sea of Fates, far beyond the breakers.

  He resumed his pace, redirecting his attention to the white tent across the open field before him. A pole with a flag marked by an orange sun upon a field of white stood beside the tent, the banner wavering in the mid-day breeze. A gust caused the flag to ripple before calming, as if the wind were announcing his approach to the men who waited inside.

  Garrett pulled his helmet off before entering and shook his head to loosen the damp black curls sticking to his forehead. He tucked the helmet beneath an arm and smoothed his hair back. The two guards posted outside gave him a salute as they stepped aside to allow him to enter unchallenged.

  Hearing him duck through the tent flap, the two men inside stopped talking and turned in his direction. One of the men sported graying hair and a short gray beard. He wore fine clothing that hung loose on his thin frame. The other man stood tall, with a barrel chest. His short-trimmed beard matched the brown hair that resided below a gold crown with a rising sun engraved in the front. Piercing brown eyes gazed at Garrett from beneath the man’s crowned brow.

  Garrett gave a bow and waited for the man to speak.

  “Captain Pularus. We were just talking about you.” The man with the crown said, stepping closer. “I trust you have good news.”

  “Yes, your Majesty.” Garrett replied. “It was just as our benefactor described. With The Hand decimated, the Ministry is in shambles. We arrested a few dozen men, but the others appear to have fled. With only women, the elderly, and children remaining, our taking the city was merely a matter of getting inside. Sol Polis is ours.”

  King Tallinor nodded with a smile. “Good. Very good.” He turned to the other man in the tent. “See, Hamilton. There was nothing to worry about.”

  Hamilton nodded. “So it appears, your Majesty. One can hope that The Hand is, indeed, no longer a thorn in your side.”

  Tallinor caressed the arm of the ornate throne occupying the center of the tent, gazing at it in wonder. “Even if they return, I now have the throne to protect myself and Kalimar. Knowing the truth is a powerful thing, and having a guaranteed means to discern it is immeasurable. This is truly a kingly gift, one that I will labor the remainder of my reign to repay.” The bemused look on Tallinor’s face clouded, his anger returning. “The Hand will not be allowed the opportunity to betray me again. We came to the brink of disaster. If Kalimar had fallen to them, Vinacci would have been next. With the army they were assembling, I’m not sure if anyone could have stopped them.” He shook his head. “Thank Issal that one of them saw the corruption that had infected the Ministry. I shudder to think of how things would have gone without his support.”

  “You have no idea how correct you are, Sire,” Garrett agreed. “The memory of what I witnessed still gives me nightmares. If not for Pascal’s genius and his powers, we wouldn’t have had a chance. Even then, it was the girl who tipped the balance for us, right when it appeared all was lost.” A chill went down his spine, causing him to shudder.

  “So you’ve told me. When we get back, I’ll have to reward her. But first, I must deal with you.” King Tallinor put a hand on Garrett’s shoulder. “I want to thank you again, Captain. The risk that you took to support the man in his wild gambit was great. Kalimar owes you. The other kingdoms of Issalia owe you as well.”

  Garrett nodded, accepting the praise with humility.

  Tallinor stepped back, turning toward Hamilton Channis, his chief advisor. “What say you, Ham? What reward is appropriate for our captain, he
re?”

  Hamilton cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, Sire, he was quite instrumental in stopping The Hand’s vile plan, and he appears to have captured their city for you as well.”

  “But, Sire,” Garrett interrupted. “I already have the sword he created. It is a weapon of Power, already worth more than I could earn in a lifetime.”

  The King spun about, his intense brown eyes meeting Garrett’s. “Keep the sword, Captain. You’ve earned it. However, I believe that a more substantial reward is required.” He turned his head to the side, speaking over his shoulder. “What do you think, Ham? Does our young captain here have the chops to be a duke?”

  Hamilton’s brow furrowed in thought before speaking. “I believe so, your Majesty. He has proven his loyalty to the crown. In addition, he has exhibited both strategic planning and tactical abilities in his role as Captain. With a seasoned advisor, I believe he would make a suitable duke.”

  Tallinor smiled. “My thoughts exactly.” Reaching for the scabbard on his hip, he drew his sword. “Take a knee, Captain Pularus.”

  Garrett couldn’t believe what was happening. He had come from peasant stock, not one person in his family owning a title. His ten-year rise in Kalimar’s army had been a combination of skill, persistence, and a fair bit of luck. Yes, his father was a highly skilled and respected craftsman, but the thought of earning a title had never crossed Garrett’s mind. To do so at just twenty-six summers astounded him.

  He took a knee before his king, the moment feeling utterly surreal. Tallinor lifted his sword before his face. “As of today, Sol Polis is officially a duchy of Kalimar.” He lowered the sword, tapping it to each of Garrett’s shoulders as he spoke.

  “By rights of title, according to the kingdom of Kalimar, and under the eyes of Issal, I do grant Garrett Pularus the position of Duke of Sol Polis. May you live long, remain loyal to the crown, and thrive!”

  Part I:

  Towers of Courage

  CHAPTER 1

  Despite it being the heart of winter, the canyon’s proximity to the Sea of Fates kept the weather mild. When the wind blew from the south, as it did on this day, the mild weather became decidedly summer-like. Even in the heat, Wraith jumped and frolicked ahead of Brock Talenz as they approached the compound wall.

  Brock angled toward the gate centered between the two canyon walls. His gaze fell upon the rubble remains of the southern third of the wall, demolished by Chaos when he and his friends had stormed the compound. Attacking the prison against superior numbers had been a bold move but was one that Brock would have done again if necessary. The poor Unchosen who were imprisoned within deserved better, deserved the right to live their lives as free people, not as slaves who mined gold while chained up for life. It made Brock sad to think that The Hand could be so cruel, dooming Unchosen simply because they lacked a vocation rune. Of course, he knew now that it was a ruse and that The Hand simply wanted to control Unchosen to prevent them from discovering that they could wield Chaos. Brock smiled. Too late for that now, he thought.

  As Brock passed through the open gate, he thought about Tom Gambo. The former prison leader, and member of The Hand, remained locked in the storage shed behind the stable. Brock hoped that none of the former prisoners would find the man and do something they might regret. He expected that they would earn their fill of dark memories with what was coming.

  He spotted Ashland waiting just inside the gate. The breeze teased her shoulder-length brown curls while her striking blue eyes squinted in the sunlight. When his eyes met hers, she spoke in his mind. He’s gone then?

  Brock nodded, sending his thoughts to her. Yes. He has a full water skin and enough food to last a day. He glanced backward, seeking the trail on the slope that framed the south side of the canyon. I hope I don’t regret letting him go. Terrance appears to be honest, just working for the wrong people. I pray that’s the case.

  Loping ahead, Wraith reached Ashland before he did. The massive black dog nuzzled against Ashland, pushing her aside. She giggled as she scratched behind Wraith’s ears. Brock was glad that the former bacabra had taken a liking to Ashland. It would have been awkward if Wraith had become jealous of the attention Brock gave his girlfriend. However, Brock knew that it wasn’t in Wraith’s nature to be jealous. Protective, yes. Jealous, no.

  When he reached Ashland, Brock put his arm around her and they walked toward the ruined guard barracks just beyond the broken wall. Beyond the building, people milled about the former prison, busily converting it into a cleaner and more hospitable location. Since they needed to live there for a while, Brock encouraged them to destroy anything that reminded them of their lives as slaves. After gathering shackles, chains, whips, and other items that triggered painful memories, they buried them away in an abandoned mine tunnel at the east end of the canyon.

  As he neared the pile of rubble, Brock noted the effectiveness of the Heavy rune he had drawn on the roof of barracks while attacking the prison. When the roof collapsed, it had crushed everything beneath it in seconds, killing and trapping the men inside. The feats that the use of Chaos could accomplish still amazed him.

  Benny and Salina approached, meeting Brock and Ashland beside the barracks. With large dark eyes and long black hair, Salina had an exotic look about her. She flashed an engaging smile when she saw Brock. Benny rocked his shoulders, pinched his face, and swatted at the flies buzzing about.

  “It’s already beginning to stink,” Benny said.

  Brock glanced toward Benny, seeing his quirky friend push his rectangular spectacles up before pinching his nose closed with his finger and thumb.

  Brock nodded. “That’s the problem. We can’t get to the bodies, so we can’t bury them and the hot weather’s making the smell even worse. I’d just burn the whole thing to the ground, but stone doesn’t burn very well.”

  Salina spoke, her plugged nose making it take on a nasal tone. “What about flash powder?”

  Brock’s brow furrowed. “Flash powder?”

  Salina nodded. “Yeah. They use it to blast sections of the mine tunnels open.”

  Benny’s hand lowered, now ignoring the smell. “This flash powder, does it burn green?”

  She nodded again. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  Benny’s voice raised in excitement as he continued, “How much of it do you have?”

  Salina shrugged, tossing her black hair over a shoulder. “I don’t know. A few of the tunnels have veins of it running through the walls. They sometimes make us harvest it.” Her face clouded. “It can be dangerous since it only takes a spark to ignite.”

  Benny’s eyes were alight with excitement. “She’s right. With some of this stuff, we can easily burn the barracks down.” He turned toward Salina. “Show me where we can find this flash powder.”

  * * *

  Brock watched Parker light the arrow with the torch and nock it to his bow. He still didn’t understand why Benny was being so cautious, but he relied on Benny’s wits as guidance. The bow twanged, and Parker’s flaming arrow struck the ruined barracks, skidding and tumbling before it settled. An explosion shook the canyon, the thump of the concussion echoing from the surrounding hillsides as a green flame erupted. The fire morphed from green to orange, bathing the canyon walls in the warm flickering light. Brock now understood why Benny had demanded that everyone keep a wide radius from the barracks while they set the building ablaze. In fact, Brock was surprised at how little of the flash powder was required to make the explosion.

  The heat from the blaze forced everyone to maintain a distance, keeping the chill of the evening air to a minimum. With stomachs full from a good meal, Brock’s friends and the former prisoners happily tapped their second barrel of ale.

  When Brock d
iscovered two former street musicians among the male prisoners, he encouraged them to play music to lighten the mood. Excited at the chance to perform, one man cobbled together two barrels, one large and one small, to use as drums while the other secured string over a wooden bowl into a makeshift drum and lyre. When the music began, a blonde woman stood and began singing. It didn’t take long before others began clapping to the beat with smiles on their faces. Overall, the mood felt festive and happy.

  Brock excused himself from Ashland’s side and worked his way around the camp in an effort to stop and speak to every new face he found. It might take a while, but he was determined to learn all 98 names and the faces that went with them. Although Brock had led the attack that liberated the Unchosen from imprisonment, he had also convinced them to join the fight against The Horde. Once they agreed to follow him, their lives and future were in Brock’s hands. He felt responsible for these people, and he wanted to develop a relationship with each of them.

  Two hours passed before the fire began to fade. The music and crowd dwindled as the flames simmered to glowing coals. After the intensity of the blaze, Brock had no doubt that the corpses buried within the ruins had been reduced to ash.

  With only the three men who had volunteered for first watch remaining, Brock and Ashland bid them good night. Shadowed by Wraith, they headed toward the small storage room behind the mess hall building. Nobody appeared to care that Brock and Ashland had claimed the room for themselves. He suspected that the prisoners were happy to have Wraith locked away with Brock and Ashland rather than having her loose within the bunkhouses where they slept. The oversized dog still looked too much like a bacabra for most people’s comfort.

  Brock opened the door, and Wraith padded inside to curl up below the foot of the bed. He pulled his shirt over his head, tossed it aside, and sat on the bed to pull his boots off. Ashland set the glowlamp on a shelf, the blue light now a dull glow since it had been hours since it was last activated.