An Eagle Falls

By Harold Moore

In a land long accustomed to magic, the steady march of technological progress has shaken an empire to its core. Now, as the provinces peel away and form their own destinies within the world, a humble rancher's son from a peaceful land finds himself called to the service of his home province. Gathering a band of misfits, he is forced to abandon his pastoral existence and brave travels throughout the realms, on a mission given to him solely because he possesses a bloodline unknown even to himself, hunted by an organization who would see a new power ascend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harold Moore
• Release date: Mar 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310163166

Book preview

An Eagle Falls

Harold Moore

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Harold Moore

Prologue

Golden rays poured through the oculus, high within the Imperial Temple. Their ethereal lines highlighted the fine mosaic depicting the origin of the City of Wonder, just as the temple had been designed oh so many centuries ago. In alcoves upon the walls the honored fathers, leaders of the republic and the kingdom before it, stood cast in bronze. They gazed down eternal, in silent vigil over those who might enter under the great dome. The temple possessed a certain serenity, a gravity of purpose which the passing years could not assail.

The quiescence of the temple was preserved as much by the forces imbued into its stone walls by centuries of worship as much as the labor of the groundsmen and guards. Two black uniformed guards were always on duty, and stood silent as the statues which they protected, their crisp black jackets decorated with silver trim, pistols holstered at one hip, their ceremonial short bladed sword at the other. The honored position of guardian of the temple was a task given only to those of the purest of human blood, of the most loyal, most elite of any of the imperial services. There was never a fear of dereliction of duty, the position was so coveted, and the consequences for failure so very high.

The silence of the domed chamber was broken by the slow, methodical step of slipper clad feet, and the aged Senator Livo Anastus stepped past the guards, and into the great chamber. After eighty five years of living, sixty of public service, after uncounted visits to the temple's heart, he never failed to pause and stand in awed veneration. He was one of the few of his station who still respected the traditions, who genuinely cared for the principles which had been handed down since Laspavian I first cut his way out of a Hrongari abattoir and established the city a thousand years past. He had seen greatness in his youth, commanding a legion, helping keep the peace of the republic. He had seen the glorious transformations wrought upon society by the rise of steam and steel, the way that the seventh and longest reigning Imperator had guided the republic into ever greater heights of prosperity.

He had also seen civil war wrack the republic. Three times in thirty years, with an uneasy peace settling only the last four. The fighting had shook the empire to its very core, depleted its resources, squandered its forces. And it was all because the immortal seventh Imperator had retired, seeing that they had become too dependent upon him. We were. The words left Livo's lips before he could stop them. Though they were clearly audible in the temple, the guards who were supposed to preserve the silence within did nothing to stop him.

He turned his head to watch the black uniformed youths, who even now stared at him with a certain unreadable expression. In the distant, thunder that was not thunder rumbled. Livo knew the sound. The distant firing of artillery, the sound of war. It was seconds, easily counted seconds, before the much closer detonation of the shells sounded in deafening blasts through the streets outside. The solid stone of the ancient temple did nothing to mute the detonations, nor the sudden rise of sirens and screams. The aged Livo looked down to the mosaic at his feet. No one, no one had invaded the capitol. Never in memory had a force done more than skirmish at its outskirts, even during the civil wars.

Another distant rumble echoed through. Another volley, and Livo could do nothing but fall to his knees. Beneath him, the image of the Laspasian Eagle stared up, clutching sword and bundled axe and rods. The roof shook under the power of another much closer blast, and dust began to fall for the first time from the highest statues. Cracks began to appear in the ceiling. Livo turned to look to the guardians of the temple, who stared silently back. I don't even know who is shelling. Livo explained in an apologetic tone.

One of the guardians spoke, an act which broke the tradition of silence of their order. It's alright. The youth's voice was strong and clear, stark contrast to the old Senator's. It was an honor to serve, Senator.

The words made Livo's blood run chill. The guardians were blessed with a certain foresight when on the job, to be able to better protect the temple. The youth's breach of the code of the guardian, and his phrasing could only mean one thing. Tears ran down the old man's cheeks, and he turned his gaze up to the sky through that high opening far above. The beautiful, spring sky visible through the oculus betrayed none of the smoke and dust that must surely now be rising outside. Who would fire on the Temple? And yet he made no move to stand, no move to exit the building. Here was as fine a place to die as any.

Chapter 1

It was actually a pleasant day out, but Darios was never one to let a beautiful sky, cool breeze, and lush fields as far as the eye could see interfere with a foul mood. His father had sent him out to check on why the herd was still six hours overdue, and Darios Oshmann knew without even looking who had been scheduled to move it. Mishner Vint was the laziest,most conniving hand the Oshmann Ranch had ever seen, and Darios was ever the one to go chase him down when the work wasn't getting done. Of course, they couldn't really let him go. Old Mishner might be lazy and dumb as a box of rocks, but he'd saved the old man numerous times back in the legions and old blood debts died hard, even when they were owed to a half blood who favored his goblin father far more than not.

Darios himself was a powerfully built, dark haired young man, suited for soldiering, his father was oft fond of saying. He'd been too young to sign up when the turmoil in the east cropped up, and then the ranch needed him more than even his father would admit. The old man had been in the legions, of course, and keeping the ranch safe from predators and thieves had honed Darios' skills with a gun, so it wasn't as if he was soft as some city boy. Still, he reflected, it would have been something to serve in the legions, to march under the golden eagle.

As he approached the brook at the edge of their lands, the sun was already crawling well into noon. There was no reason Mishner should have been this far out, and Darios hadn't seen hide nor hair of the herd at all. His concern mounted as the steady trickle of water reached him, and the sound of the breeze coursing through the leaves of the dark woods beyond. Where was that damned half blood? Darios frowned as his concern only grew, and he leaned forward, standing in the stirrups to try to get a view over the bank where the brook flowed.

There, in the muck and the dirt at the edge of the brook lay Mishner's horse. The saddle was still on the thing, as was Mishner's gun, but the horse itself was dead. Blood oozed from gashes that looked like they were made by a machete, though they were too regularly spaced, three of them together ran from the poor beast's neck all the way down its side, cutting deep into the saddle's leather and through the straps, right along where Mishner's leg would've been.

Darios dropped a hand to the butt his rifle, then lifted it and drew the bolt back, readying it for firing. He turned his gaze up and down along the banks, but no sign of Mishner himself was evident. There were tracks though, there in the mud of the far bank, a mix of hoof prints and something else. Something clawed, with three taloned toes that had a spread wider than his own shoulders. A grim expression settled on the young man's face, and he lifted his gaze up to where those tracks seemed headed. The woods, a tangled remnant of what used to be a forest that spanned horizons, now simply loomed as an incongruous reminder of a time that once was. Uninviting, dark, and forbidding.

The young man took a deep breath, forcing his nerves to calm. He couldn't let his imagination get away from him, what he knew he had to face was bad enough. It was a wyvern, had to be. There was nothing else got that large in the area and left tracks like that. Darios kept his rifle at the ready, and began to guide his horse down the slope, intent on crossing that brook and finding out just what happened to Mishner. He knew he should go back and get a couple more men, but something kept him near. The horse was already splashing across the brook as he rationalized it. It'd take hours, he told himself, and by then Mishner would be dead. Of course it was likely that the old fool was already dead, and all Darios might do is add himself to the thing's dinner plate. In the end, he had to admit himself it was all about the fight. He wanted to face this. He wanted to kill the thing, to come back home with a wyvern's fang and a tale of glory you just didn't see often any more. Darios just hoped his rifle had enough punch to take the thing out.

When his horse came up on the far bank, and he finally got a good view of the woods, Darios started to have second thoughts. It was dark under those trees. Darker than was right. He knew he had to trust only what he saw, what his senses told him, but there was something not right about those shadows. From among the trees a soft breeze coursed, but what that wind brought firmed his resolve. Cattle, their calls, their movements, and then in the distance something that sounded like a pained groan. It had to be Mishner. His horse stirred and pawed, and Darios dismounted, slipping from the saddle, rifle in hand. The unease of his horse was a warning, but a warning which Darios simply filed away. With quiet steps, the young man stepped into the eaves of the wood.

The trees had a history written upon their bark. Not in words or script, but in moss and scars, in vines and branches. Though Darios had only gone in a dozen paces, it seemed as if he had traveled back centuries. He felt as if he should be bearing blade and armor, not duster and rifle. It was easier to tell where the herd had been driven than he had dared to hope. Hooves had torn up brush and undergrowth in such a manner that one would have to be blind to miss the trail. It went into the woods, further and further, and as at first minutes, then a half hour passed, Darios began to wonder if he had made the right decision, leaving his horse back at the edge of the wood. He had thought, he had remembered it to be much more cluttered, much closer. Once within the twilight of the wood, however, he had found the place almost seemed to invite him in further, to draw him in by ease of the path.

He was beginning to despair of catching up with the herd when he heard another pained shout. It was definitely Mishner, calling for help from a place that seemed far up from the ground. Almost at the same time, Darios spotted the first of the cattle. The reddish hide of the beast seemed dark as blood under the shade of the trees. Darios stepped forward with a more cautious stride, pace by pace, rifle raised. There was still no sign of the wyvern.

Come get me you scaly bastard! Mishner's rough, gravely voice carried through the trees, even as he slowly swung back and forth from a vine binding his body. The half goblin's powerful torso had been wrapped round and round with the thick vine, close enough to prevent him from getting the leverage he needed to break free. He hung upside down, his head some five feet from the ground, and the vines had enough spring that whenever he struggled anew, he bobbed and wove in the air. Darios caught sight of Mishner at the same time that the half blood sighted him. Boy, boy, better run. It's a damned trap. Get away, leave me be.

Darios took a long look about, but remained silent. Only when he confirmed he didn't see the beast around did he comment, his voice dry and low, Mister Vint, if you're the bait in this trap, I don't know that anyone else is going to spring it. You've got to be the ugliest lure I've ever laid eyes on. As the half blood snarled and struggled in response to his words, Darios cast his eyes about the clearing. There were much of the herd, standing as if nothing were going on, and the tree tops shook from where Mishner was suspended. All except one area. One seemed to be more still than the rest. Not even the breeze stirred its leaves. Squinting, Darios traced the outline of the still leaves, and all became clear. There was a reptilian snout, a long, sinuous body, and wings. The coloration was blended in almost perfectly with the tree that it clung to, all in all Darios reckoned the beast was twice as big as a horse, though much longer, with a pair of clawed wings. The creature was staring at him, just as he stared at it. Why it hadn't jumped yet wasn't immediately clear. Perhaps he was out of range.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Darios lifted his rifle, aiming with care. His every movement was agonizing in its caution, he didn't want to move suddenly, to stir the thing into movement. He was relying on the beast being just like any other animal, not knowing what that rifle was, and yet as he sighted at the creature, he noted the spark of intelligence in its eyes, and no sooner had he brought that rifle to bear, it leaped. He hadn't had time to aim fully, for that matter he wasn't exactly certain where to aim. There was the sudden eruption of the creature from the tree, the spread of its wings, and then the crack of his rifle going off, seemingly all at once.

Chapter 2

His head throbbed, and for a moment, confusion clouded Darios'