Read Online Rise of the Red Harbinger by Khalid Uddin - Free Book Online Page B

scriptures of old, Orijin provided no guarantee of anything after one met death. He had not provided even the Harbingers with insight on the afterlife, except that one existed. Taurani assumed, based on the teachings of their priests, that as long as they believed in and prayed to Orijin, they would escape His wrath. There were rumors of a Book of Orijin in the cities of Ashur, but Taurani saw even the idea of it as blasphemy.
    Men had generally come to fear death because of the unknown. Taurani, however, raised their children to have no fear of death. They took much pride in their ancestry, and revolved their existence around living up to the accomplishments and accolades of Taurean.
    After Taurean, Cerys, and Magnus failed, Orijin anointed five new Harbingers many centuries later. These new Harbingers, Darian, Jahmash, Abram, Gideon, and Lionel, managed to instill in mankind the devotion to Orijin once more, but in the aftermath, they resorted to fighting amongst themselves. Jahmash grew mad, betrayed the rest, and was exiled from the rest of mankind; he hadn’t been seen or heard from in more than a thousand years. Rumors flooded the world that his return was at hand, and that everything bad that occurred in Ashur was because of Jahmash, often called “The Red Harbinger.” None claimed to have seen Jahmash, however the Taurani culture and lifestyle were meant to prepare them for his return, as the ultimate honor to Taurean and the Orijin.
    Marshall hadn’t heard any distinct names in the chaos of the morning. But if this battalion indeed belonged to Jahmash, then these were the days his people had waited for centuries to come.
    Marshall understood that many of his people would die today, but the amount of casualties could be controlled. The Taurani were trained to find the enemy’s weakness. Marshall would have to find it himself. His right arm was useless, as the arrow had pierced the bones in his shoulder. He tensed once more and pulled the remaining portion of the arrow from his back. He tasted blood in his mouth from having bitten down so strongly, gritted his teeth and handled the pain. He ripped his shirt in two pieces to bandage the wound and use as a sling. His arm would still move somewhat, but it was the best he could do.
    This army had interloped upon them so quickly that only those who had been near the armory and watchtowers would have time to find armor and weapons. Even they could not have all fared very well.
    Marshall couldn’t stop to think about that now. People were dying and he couldn’t help that. He had to worry about his own survival if he wanted to save anyone else. His village would receive no help from outside. Most likely, nobody outside the village would even know this was happening.
    Close combat was his only chance. The soldiers were poor marksmen else he would be dead by now. But there were still hundreds of them, judging by the deluge of arrows that had flooded the skies. That had been the first wave. After the arrows killed or maimed anyone outside or near windows, the second wave of soldiers stormed the houses.
    Marshall lived at the edge of his village, near one of the blacksmith’s workshops. Buildings, trees, houses, and everything else had been torn down in the process of killing anyone the soldiers found. Marshall simply got lucky that he couldn’t sleep during the night and was outside, behind his home when it came crashing down. His parents and two sisters, however, did not share his luck; nor did anyone in the homes around him. The soldiers never saw him because he got caught in the rubble, but he had already been struck by a stray arrow.
    He had dragged himself across the common courtyard that lay behind his house and those that neighbored it. Marshall sat beneath a cluster of broken wooden planks, against the remnant of a wall, nursing his shoulder. What bothered him the most about having been shot was not that he had been injured, but that the arrow had pierced through