Rune and Ruin

Seeds of the Gods - 2 - Fertile Ground

396 B.C.E. - The City of Rune, Tasurian Peninsula, Winter, Month of December

From His Memory

Falx Camillus Fyrrin

"Nine females have proven barren in the Emperor's own harem," Marcellin Fyriin, Falx's father, muttered to him as they walked quickly through the halls of the Tasuri Senate.

Falx glanced at him, but said nothing, matching the stoic expression on Marcellin Fyriin's face. It was hard to bite his tongue on this. The emperor refused to consider any other females than the pure Tasuri. He impregnated at least two Acera bitches, according to rumors. The whelps of those unions couldn't rule, true, but at least they knew the Emperor had the ability to father children. Still, only two, and from weak slaves. Tasuri noblewomen were no longer having children, their curse lasting for over a century. Fewer children were being born. The Tasuri were failing to stay strong. Acera females could still bear their children, albeit weaker than purebloods.

"It's why this war was suggested. Madness," his father muttered just as they reached the doors to the Senate.

Two thin, rangy Acera males, their bodies spindly, without horns or scales, fangs or claws, greeted them with soft, bowed heads and averted gazes as they pulled the doors open. Looking them over, Falx had to admit that the emperor was right about the weakness of the Acera. How could any hatchling born of such pathetic creatures amount to anything?

"General Fyriin," the raspy, elderly voice greeted his father and Falx before they walked through the ornate, bronze doors leading to the Senate chamber. "What do you think of this nonsense with Veii?"

Falx's father didn't show his anger at the impertinent question or the rude timing, but as his son Falx could feel his demon stiffen and bare his teeth at the Senator. Falx risked a glance at his father's face. Marcellin's eyes were rimmed red and his horns were peeking from under his silvered head. They had been this way for a month. Grief from the loss of Falx's younger sister. It was a bitter time for the Fyriin House.

"We wait for the Senate's vote, Lucian," his father rumbled.

The older Tasuri nodded, his face set in contemplative reflection. He took a small step forward. "Four more nobles have suffered the Change in the last month, Marcellin," he whispered. Then, louder, "the Fyriin house has failed to bring Veii to heel."

Falx's father's bones groaned and ground under his skin, flexing and moving as his muscles shifted with his demon's agitation. Falx felt his own beast stir, red eyes blinking, claws flickering on the ends of his fingers. Falx tamped him down, refusing to lose control of his demon on his first visit to the Senate floor.

"All depends on the vote," his father rasped.

One of the heavy bronze doors shrieked in protest. The Acera slave, arms trembling from the effort of holding it open, let out a soft whimper of fear.

A moment later, one of the Tasuri slavemasters appeared next to the slave. With a heavy backhand, the slave fell to the floor, his knees clunking unforgivingly on the stone. The other slave didn't make a single movement as Falx's father and the Senator walked past without a single glance.

The swish of the whip cracked behind Falx as he followed his father. The scent of Acera blood bloomed in the air as the slave took his punishment. Three strikes for his weakness. Fool.

"Fyriin! Shame to your house if you refuse to take Veii!" was their greeting as they walked onto the floor of the Senate.

"It is the Lamillia House that has failed!" his father snarled, claws erupting from the ends of his fingers. "They have brought their army on the war march and failed to take any major Acera city in these last two months! It is not meant to be!" he roared. "This is why I voted, nay!"

Voices rose in protest, accusations flying. It was an embarrassment, for certain, that a Tasuri army failed to take a city of Acera weaklings.

"We must take the city," came the reply thrown out from another direction. "The shapers are coming in from the mountains. We must claim the Acera, first."

"We need Acera blood. Foreign blood for our harems" claimed another. Falx narrowed his eyes at him. A Cloisteri, if he wasn't mistaken. Rumors said that they killed their Acera slavegirls when they were done with them. The Tasuri couldn't afford to lose breeding stock, but even so, Falx wouldn't trust the Cloisteri House with a female, especially a soft, weak Acera. As if to lend credence to that feeling, his demon flicked his gaze to the bench behind the Cloisteri. A little Acera slave was curled up next to one of the Tasuri males. Slight and dark, she was dressed in the Cloisteri colors and wearing chains that looked too heavy for her to bear easily. Falx wondered if she was a runner, or if the Cloisteri were just assholes.

His father growled, his hands clenched into fists. "We risk angering the gods, the more Acera who fall to our blades and claws, the more we risk retribution-"

"Lies!" a voice blared.

"Blasphemy! The gods have said that the Tasuri should rule the weaker classes-"

"We know, Marcellin. You never wanted to take it," came a bitter accusation. "You have made it clear that you believe taking more Acera is a folly."

"Maybe the failure of the Lamillian army points to favor of the gods for the Acera-" a supporter began.

"Or maybe the House of Fyriin is filled with cowards!"

Rage colored Falx's vision red, but he held his body utterly still. His training had been absolute, unforgiving. He was Fyriin, even if he hadn't been named the Warlord of their House, yet.

"We have voted, two months past, Fyriin," a gravely voice interrupted. "We have already decided. If you refuse to take your army, then another will!"

Shouts erupted yet again. His father snarled furiously, the fury in his expression living up to their House name. "Who will take the Fyriin army?" he roared. "Our army? Do you pissants believe any other Tasuri other than a Fyriin can take Veii?"

"You never wanted to take it," came a bitter accusation. "You have made it clear that you believe taking more Acera is a folly."

"We need more children," another voice snapped. "Even your weakling daughter died from the curse, Marcellin."

Falx's demon erupted. His father knew, he sensed the thin thread of control snapping, but he was old, his demon a step too late to stop his son from flinging himself into his warform. The accuser, the condemned fool, dangled from Falx's claws as his wings spread out, knocking several Tasuri from his path. Blood, warm and wet, flowed through his clawed fingers to drip on the floor. His scaly hide glistened with the sticky red lifeblood of the dead Senator.

The initial screams of shock and terror gave way to silence as Falx's hand, scaled with obsidian and clawed with even darker daggers, closed more tightly over the stone demon's neck. Falx met the gaze of his victim's kin, and watched their demon eyes flicker red. Smiling, Falx squeezed, cracking stone and bone into dust.

"Fyriin," a quiet whisper echoed through the chamber. "You owe us a blood price."

In the sudden silence, Camillus Fyriin's voice fell like a stone. "My son will lead our army to Veii. Bring us the city, Warlord. May the gods grant us their favor."

His demon's tongue flickered in excitement.