Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1) by Jonathan Pasquariello Page A

an intruder and they have the
ability to take the shape of another man—or woman. He is under orders to kill
the General and his son. We must be on high alert.” Thandril observed Rurik’s
demeanor stiffen at the news and, a barely noticeable, flash of golden light
blink across his eyes.
    “Oh really? We
haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary. But, when I get back to the command
center, I will pass the word around,” Sweat started to bead across Rurik’s
brow, “It sure is warm in here with all of the heat pushing in from outside.”
    “Indeed.”
    They rounded a
corner and entered a long, narrow hallway with many doors leading into
different rooms.
    “So how is
your brother doing? Is he healing up nicely after that nasty stomach wound?”
Thandril asked.
    “Yes, the
doctors say he should make a full recovery in a couple of weeks,” Rurik
replied, holding a paper-thin confidence in his voice.
    “That’s interesting
since you buried him in the camp up north.”
    A widening of
eyes. A twitch of the hand.
    It's him.
    The imposter
reached for his sword, but the Thandril was faster, shoving him against the
wall, pushing the air from his lungs. The imposter doubled over. Thandril
followed with a heavy strike to the temple of the man’s skull, dropping him to
the ground.
    Thandril reached
down to pick him up.
    The fake Rurik
slipped a concealed dagger from his boot, jabbing it into Thandril’s thigh.
    Thandril
didn’t even flinch from the unexpected strike and grabbed the man’s hand which
clutched the dagger, crushing the bones like a clump if dirt. He lifted the
screaming man into the air, his cries shortening as Thandril’s fingers
tightened around his throat. Pinning him against the wall, Thandril began his
hasty interrogation.
    “Who sent
you?” Thandril yelled.
    The changeling
twisted his lower body, trying to break free, repeatedly kicking at Thandril’s
legs.
    “What the hell
is going on out here?” Saris emerged from a doorway, five yards down the
hallway. Upon seeing the struggle, he started shouting. “Thandril! What has
gotten into you?”
    The assassin
took the momentary distraction and slipped into the figure of Saris and joined
in with the yelling, desperately trying to throw the situation off.
    The General’s
mouth dropped open.
    Taking
advantage of the surprising transformation, the fake Saris ripped one of his
arms free and chopped Thandril in the neck. The druid faltered only slightly
but held his grip firmly on his prey.
    “Who or what
the hell is that?” said Saris.
    “This man was
sent here to kill you, Master,” Thandril replied. His jaw was clenched,
focusing on detaining the shapeshifter.
    Suddenly the
captive’s eyes burned bright gold, throwing strands of light across the
barracks walls. His arms and legs grew longer and thicker, till he was soon
standing even with the seven foot, tall druid.
    “Let’s see how
strong you are against someone your own size!” He roared out, yanking
Thandril’s hands off of him and then threw him back against the opposite wall.
    An exact copy
of Thandril stood panting, readying for his next move.
    He stepped
forward, landing a solid blow to Thandril’s chest. Without missing a beat, he
followed with a knee to his stomach, causing the giant soldier to fall to the
ground.
    He turned and pointed
to General Saris. “Now you!”
    “I can’t
wait.” Saris pulled his sword, gesturing him to charge.
    The
impersonator pushed off of his right foot, speeding like an arrow at the aged
warrior. Saris raised his sword to meet the intruder with a fatal strike, but the
attacker was too fast and easily dodged the attempt. He countered Saris with a
swift kick, knocking the General to his knees.
    Thandril rose
to his feet. “Hey!”
    He turned his
head, smiling, “Want a little more? I am quite enjoying this body of yours.”
    Thandril moved
closer, “You might have my strength… But you don’t have my power !”
    He clenched
his arms down to his