Scion of the Empire

By AJ Cooper

In the Empire, in towns and villages, the Cult of the Red Dawn grows.
Abroad, in the city of Eioli, the legions of the Empire lay siege.
And underneath a red moon, as the battle endures, near Eioli’s temple where a monster dwells, a battle not just of the Empire but of the ages is set to begin.
The third and final book of “Red Dawn.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Realms of Varda
• Release date: Mar 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463686065

AJ Cooper

Cursed at birth with a wild imagination, AJ Cooper spent his youth dreaming of worlds more exciting than Earth. He is a native Midwesterner and loves writing fantasy, especially epic fantasy set in his own created worlds.He is a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop and the author of numerous fantasy novels and novellas. His short stories have appeared in Morpheus Tales, Fear and Trembling, Residential Aliens and Mindflights, among others.

Book preview

From his seat on the White Throne, the emperor made his decree: that the Empire shall consist of the peninsula and the City, and nothing more… that it shall not expand; that if the men and women of Eioli give up their arms, they shall not be harmed.

But news troubled him, news from the far corners but most of all news close to home: Julia, the one he loved, was gone…

Part One

Chapter One

Aulus Meridius, Centurion

For months he had looked upon those hateful walls, the walls of Eioli, proud and insolent, colored gold. He had heard of the city’s many horrors, and he had seen its wealth. Aulus Meridius, the leader of the Red Century, had set his heart against it.

He watched as more legionaries poured in, legionaries from across the sea and far away, from the north. But he turned to see Eioli, and there was wrath in his heart.

The city had claimed the life of a good man, Varius Tycho, his friend. The city had claimed the life of Agatho Lornodoris, commander-in-chief, in the most treacherous of ways.

And Aulus Meridius, leader of the Red Century, husband of Falernia, father of Claudia and Horatius, knew his wrath was building, that it was beginning to take root, that it was beginning to take control of him.

And so he marched up to Eioli’s towering city gates. Legionaries turned to look and so he had an audience.

He drew from his sheath his sword. He cut open his fingers and let the blood drip.

The rite he was performing was not Imperial, nor was the god to whom it was consecrated. It was foreign, but it had been done before.

Men of the Red Century, of the Sixth Anthanian, of the Second Peregothian and all others…

The dark spirits that haunted Eioli had driven the legions away, but only a little while; the legions had become accustomed to the Ugars’ dirty tricks.

The legionaries of the Empire, stunned but for a moment, had returned to the site of the siege, and the defenders on the walls of Eioli had wailed.

Aulus’ audience was captive; the legionaries’ eyes were twinkling in anticipation. His fingers continued to dribble blood.

The Rite of Devotion I perform, Aulus said. If Yblis, the god of the underworld, grants me victory, then I will sacrifice my life to the chthonic host. If Eioli falls, I will offer myself as his prize.

The legionaries looked appalled; centurions and tribunes were watching with mouths agape. There was no going back now.

But so great was his wrath that he would do anything to see the city fall. So great was his wrath that he was willing to do this, to perform the Rite of Devotion.

And so it was seen; and so it was done. There was no abandoning his promise. Aulus Meridius, leader of the Red Century, husband of Falernia, father of Claudia and Horatius, had pledged his life to Eioli’s fall. All was in Yblis’ hands now.

Chapter Two

Julia Seánus

How many times had she retreated here?

She was away from the city, ten miles from its outer bounds, in Herne’s Glade, in the Chrysum Forest.

She had been to this glade before, to meditate, to escape.

And now she was doing both. Because she was afraid.

She was afraid, not of Varro, not of the supposedly ferocious Ugars. No, she was afraid of the Imperial Council, and of herself.

She had told the government the location of Varro’s lair. Mass arrests were underway in Imperial City. The Red Hand cult was about to be stamped out for good.

And she had been a member. She would be under the eyes of the law; yes, the law that not even the Seánus family was above. For the eyes of Lady Justice were blind, and she did not care for August or common or Knight.

How beautiful were these oaks. There was a promise of spring.

Green was the grass in Herne’s Glade, and the blades gleamed with dew. Deer were here in abundance, here in the highlands. Chrysum had been her favorite place of all as a girl. And now she was returning to that vulnerable place, the place she had been before the storms of adolescence and adulthood, the storms that had brought her to where she was now.

Publius was surely worried sick. But she was safe and unharmed, at least for now.

She had seen the ring he had bought her.

He had been common; the Imperial Council had named him August. And now, vested in him were unthinkable powers, the powers to make war, to carry out justice, to set policy… and responsibilities as well, responsibilities that were just as unthinkable: to protect the nation, to lead its armies in war, to maintain the confidence of the Council.

Was he up for it? Julia had an inkling that he was.

Birds were singing. The leaves of the oaks were green. The sun was shining in the blue sky, and Julia, in this moment, could feel the happy wind of spring.

How beautiful were these woods, how gentle. The forests of her homeland, of the peninsula, were benign and inviting, even welcoming. Where the forests of the north were harsh and full of danger—threatening wind and snow and hunger—here, in Anthania, where she had been born, where she would stay, she felt at peace. In her father’s military campaigns she had seen the terrors of the north. She would not dwell there.

She sat down in Herne’s Glade and felt the grass moisten her gown.

She called up her powers, allowed the magic to percolate, allowed it to infuse her. Then she shut her eyes… she reached out, as if grasping for something. She uttered the word Publius to focus herself and envisioned him.

And there he was, in the Imperial Council halls. He was arguing with the Speaker, Councilor Lychicus. He seemed animated.

It was not a good time to talk, to let him know she was all right. And so she relinquished her power, felt its coldness leave her, and she was back again in Herne’s Glade amid the green grass… safe for now, but in the knowledge that the law was bearing down on her.

Varro’s trial was set to begin. And on that occasion, everything that she had endeavored to hide would spill out for the whole world to see.

Yes, Varro’s trial would be deadly for her, deadly indeed, and though she could not and would not escape the law, here she was, in the sanctuary of her childhood, here, amid the singing of the bluebirds, here, amid the promise of spring.

Herne’s Glade overlooked a great valley and beneath her the oaks sprawled into the horizon. The smoky haze of the city was visible but she was in nature, free of the city’s cares and worries.

She would return. Yes, she would return.

But first a little peace was in order, a little escape.

No. I will not return… I will flee across the sea. I will take refuge in the Eastern Kingdoms. Prince Pagon will not let them have me.

Escaping to her friend Pagon’s palace, in the Kingdom of Thenoa, would be a coward’s way out.

Perhaps, I am a coward.

Pagon had been her father’s foremost Eastern ally. He would not let harm come to Julia, though she was not a girl anymore, but a woman full grown. She had spent a summer in the richness of his palace. Would he remember her?

A coward’s way out. A coward.

She turned, peering into the horizon. Her heart began to flutter; she felt disoriented, light-headed. She felt a growing dread.

And so she arose; she stiffened her back. Her stamina had grown over years of using her powers. What was it that troubled her? She was facing west by northwest.

The skies were blue. Clouds drifted by. And she sensed fear and worry. She sensed dread.

~

In her projected form she was flying, soaring faster than an eagle. She was hurtling over fields and beyond hills and green forests. She was soaring overhead of towns and villages and hamlets, over fortresses made of rock, over sprawling farms and vineyards that lay in the sun.

Soon she was near the coast, near the haunting feeling, and her dread was growing, molting into outright fear.

And amid a land of dark silt, of melons growing on vines and endless fields of wheat, beyond the shade of stone pines, she saw what it was she sensed.

A group of men were standing there in the clearing. Brush hid them from clear view.

They were swart and dark eyed, these men—Ugars but tall for Ugars. There was a man among them wearing a fish hat on his head who bore in his hands a rod—that man, a priest no doubt, was chanting.

From the wet, muddy earth something emerged… a hoof.

She sensed the priest’s name was Drubal.

Another hoof emerged from the moist, muddy ground.

And then the creature wrested itself from its tomb… if a bull, the largest of all bulls. It was covered in iron-like scales. Two great horns emerged from its head. Its eyes glowed like embers and when it exhaled it puffed out green vapor.

For a moment, Julia was sick with fear, sick with disgust. But she braced herself and despite her trembling she continued to watch.

It is ready, Drubal said. It is like the days of old.

The metal bull jerked toward Drubal as if to gore him, but at that moment Drubal’s men sank either side of the beast’s mouth with iron hooks and pulled with all their might.

The bull wheezed and cried and the green vapor was like a cloud rising to the heavens. But then it was relented, and it was controlled.

Drubal had begun to laugh.

And Julia, watching, could feel something come over her, not dread, not terror, but alarm… alarm at what was occurring, alarm. She looked to the north and remembered the city of Eioli; she could feel a monster yearning, striving to break free.

And she looked again at the hideous scaled bull. Her heart said, Run. And another thought came to her: Bulls… Great Bulls of Phaegor!

She relinquished her power, and she had never been so happy to be far away, never so happy to be in Herne’s Glade. But she knew that though the war was far-off, if it was not won it would come close.

She asked the gods to watch over the Empire’s soldiers. She asked for peace, but she knew it was a calm before the storm.

Chapter Three

Marcus Corvus

For Marcus, the trial of Tidus Sulpicius Varro promised to be the show of the century.

Who would have thought that the Marshal of the Imperial Guard was a member of a cult? Who would have thought, moreover, that he would lead it?

Marcus had taken his seat on the bench.

The past few weeks had been wild, and in all, he was not totally convinced it was not a dream. He had tried to pinch himself several times over the past few days. His brother, the emperor? His brother, whom he had teased and picked on in his youth? And by rights of his elevation, Marcus himself—and all the Corvi—were Augusts.

The trial was taking place in Legate’s Square. Benches were set up and Marcus, as an August, had a front-row seat.

Neither the magistrate nor the defender had arrived.

But Tidus Sulpicius Varro had… yes, Varro had shown up. He was sitting behind a metal fence in what almost looked like a cage. He looked thin and pale, and his eyes were weak. The beginnings of a beard were on his cheeks; perhaps, he had not been allowed to shave.

He did not look like a member of the Imperial Guard at all, though Marcus did not know what an Imperial Guard was supposed to look like.

Begin, he wanted to shout, Begin! But he knew trials were not meant for entertainment, but to deliver justice. The entertainment was only an unintended effect.

It was amazing, the crowds behind him and the crowds ahead of him. Marcus had found his seat at dawn, waiting with eagerness. It seemed all of Imperial City had attended, at least, those who could squeeze