Page 25 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons (Empire of Vengeance #4)
T he drums began at dawn.
I woke to their deep, rhythmic pounding echoing through the Academy walls, a sound that seemed to vibrate in my bones and set my heart racing before I was even fully conscious.
Even the warmth of Marcus’ arms around me and the solidness of Antonius’ body pressed against my back couldn’t shelter me from the dread I felt inside.
For a moment I lay still, listening to that primal call to war, and felt everything inside me crystallize into sharp, terrible focus.
This was it. The recruits were being called up. Today the Academy would go to war.
I dressed quickly in my new uniform, the deep blue wool crisp and clean, the silver clasps polished to mirror brightness. My hands were steady as I braided my hair back in the regulation style, but I could see something wild and desperate in my own eyes when I caught my reflection in the mirror.
Outside my rooms, I could hear that the corridors were already alive with activity.
Recruits hurried past carrying packs and weapons, their faces a mix of excitement and terror.
Instructors barked orders, their voices sharp with urgency.
Through the windows, I could see the great courtyard filling with soldiers, supply wagons, and the organized chaos of an army preparing to march.
I made my way to the main room where Marcus and Antonius were already packing our few belongings. The sight of them working with quiet efficiency sent a pang through my chest—they were coming with me into danger, into the unknown, because they had no choice. Because I had brought them into this.
"How are you feeling?" Marcus asked softly as I approached. His dark eyes searched my face with concern I didn't deserve.
"Ready," I lied, then caught myself. These two had earned honesty from me, if nothing else. "Terrified. Sick to my stomach." I managed a weak smile. "All at once."
Antonius looked up from where he was carefully folding my spare tunic. "It's normal to be nervous before your first real campaign. My father used to say that any soldier who wasn't afraid before battle was either a fool or a madman."
"Your father was a soldier?" I asked, realizing how little I actually knew about Antonius’ life.
"He was a miner," he said quietly. "Got called up when the Empire came calling. Died when I was twelve."
The casual way he said it, the matter-of-fact acceptance, made something twist in my gut. How many families had been destroyed by war? How many more would be before this was over?
"I'm sorry," I said, and meant it.
He shrugged, but I saw the flicker of old pain in his eyes. "It's the way of things. Soldiers die. Their families adapt or they don't."
Marcus finished securing my pack and straightened. "We should get to the main courtyard. They'll be calling formations soon, and you’ll need to prepare Sirrax."
As we made our way through the Academy, I was struck by how different everything felt.
These halls that had been my home for months, the training grounds where I'd learned to fight, the dining hall where I'd shared meals and stories with my fellow recruits—all of it seemed smaller now, less significant. Like a childhood toy put away forever.
I'd barely seen Jalend these past few days.
Our paths had crossed briefly in corridors or during formation drills, but he'd seemed distant, distracted.
The few times we'd spoken, he'd looked tired, haunted even, with dark circles under his eyes and a tension in his shoulders that spoke of sleepless nights.
I'd wanted to ask what was troubling him, but something in his manner warned me off.
He was bottling something up, something that was eating at him from the inside.
I told myself it was just nerves about the coming campaign, but the hollow look in his eyes suggested something deeper, something more troubling.
The main courtyard was a sight to behold.
Hundreds of recruits stood in perfect formation, their armour gleaming in the morning sun.
Beyond them, I could see the veteran legions—row upon row of hardened soldiers who moved with the fluid precision of long experience.
Dragon riders sat mounted on their magnificent beasts, the creatures' scales catching the light like jewels.
It was beautiful and terrible at once. The sheer scale of it, the organized power—this was the might of the Empire made manifest. No wonder we'd conquered half the known world.
I headed straight for the stable, not wanting anyone to harness Sirrax but myself. Any sharp eyed stable hand might spot the iron collar was wired open instead of locked, and I couldn’t take the risk they might order a new collar before we left.
Sirrax was waiting for me, his golden eyes bright and fierce.
We go to war, Little Warrior?
I sighed, checking his collar and strapping on the leather saddle.
“We do. Gods help us, Sirrax, I don’t know what to do. How do I fight for a cause I know is wrong, is evil?”
Do not.
I frowned. “But how can I-”
"Recruits, form ranks!" Legate Cassius's voice boomed across the courtyard.
Out of time, I led Sirrax from the stable, a model tamed dragon, obedient and submissive, and we hurried to take our positions.
I found myself in the second row, behind Valeria.
Marcus and Antonius would be somewhere behind me with the other attendants.
My heart hammered as I stood at attention, waiting.
Other instructors took their places on the raised platform at the front of the formation. I recognized most of them—grizzled veterans who'd spent the last months teaching us everything from sword work to field medicine. Today, their faces were harder than usual, their expressions grim with purpose.
Legate Cassius stepped forward, his scarred face set in harsh lines. When he spoke, his voice carried clearly across the assembled ranks.
"Today, you cease to be students and become soldiers of the Empire," he began. "Today, you take your place in a glorious campaign that will secure our borders and our future for generations to come."
A cheer went up from some of the recruits, but I found I couldn't join in. Something cold was settling in my stomach.
"For too long," Cassius continued, "we have tolerated a cancer on our northern borders.
A pestilence that raids our settlements, steals our children, murders our citizens in the dark of night.
The Talfen have shown their true nature time and again, but never more clearly than in the recent attack on our own capital. "
The festival. He was talking about the festival attack, painting it as unprovoked Talfen aggression.
My blood ran cold. He was feeding them the Emperor’s lies, turning the tragedy my friends had barely survived into a rallying cry for genocide.
I wanted to scream, to shout the truth for everyone to hear, but my tongue felt welded to the roof of my mouth.
A wave of nausea rolled through me, and for a second, the world swam.
"These creatures"—his voice dripped with disgust—"masquerade as people, but make no mistake. They are animals. Worse than animals—demons wearing human faces, driven by an insatiable hunger for violence and destruction."
I thought of the Talfen refugees I'd seen in the city, the hollow-eyed families fleeing south with everything they owned loaded onto carts. They hadn't looked like demons. They'd looked like people who'd lost everything.
Another legate took the stage, one I didn’t recognise. “I’ve fought these monsters on the frontier for fifteen years," he declared. "I've seen what they do to captured soldiers, to innocent civilians. They are a blight upon the world, a disease that must be cut out before it spreads further."
More cheers from the recruits, louder now. I could see the effect the words were having—young faces hardening with righteous anger, hands tightening on weapon hilts. They were being transformed from uncertain students into instruments of war, and it was happening right before my eyes.
"They steal our children in the night," the legate continued, his voice building to a crescendo.
"They corrupt them, turn them into more monsters to send against us.
Every Talfen left alive is a threat to every Imperial citizen, every Imperial child.
There can be no mercy, no hesitation. This is a war for the very survival of civilization itself. "
The words washed over me like poison.
I stood rigid, my knuckles white where I gripped Sirrax’s reins, the leather creaking under the pressure.
The lies were so potent, so perfectly crafted to prey on fear and ignorance.
Beside me, Valeria was practically vibrating with patriotic fervour, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.
All around me, recruits were nodding, their jaws tight with grim determination.
They believed it. They were swallowing the poison and calling it medicine.
Do not fight for them, Little Warrior . Sirrax’s voice was a low rumble in my mind, a steady anchor in the storm of lies. But what choice did I have? To refuse was to be executed for treason. To run was to abandon Marcus and Antonius to that same fate.
I thought of the Emperor, of the moment when I would finally stand before him. The burning need for vengeance that had driven me for so long was still there, but it felt different now. Complicated by doubt, by the growing suspicion that nothing was as simple as I'd believed.
Legate Cassius returned to the platform for the final words. "You will show these creatures no quarter," he commanded. "You will remember that mercy is weakness, hesitation is death. The Empire depends on your strength, your resolve, your willingness to do what must be done."