Empire of Dirt

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Doran Heavybelly shrugged. “Well aye it does. Sometimes I jus’ call it hog or pig!” The dwarf swigged his ale. “Sometimes I jus’ whistle…”

  The companions fell into fits of laughter before returning to the feast.

  It was much later by the time Reyna retired for the night. The Centaurs had left Faylen to rest when Nathaniel joined her in sitting beside her mentor and keeping watch. The princess didn’t know if it was the ale Doran had kept pouring into her cup or not, but the elf looked at Nathaniel and for the first time she didn’t think about their differences. She didn’t care about their different life spans or the fact that she was falling for a human instead of an elf, never mind the fact that he wasn’t even royalty. Reyna looked at his strong, stubbled jaw and dark eyes and knew that what she felt was in fact love.

  These moments of peace and enjoyment were going to be few and far between after tonight. They had gotten lucky with the Centaurs’ change of heart today, but there would be no such luck once they entered the desert. A part of Reyna was looking forward to seeing the southern kingdom, and observing how the humans had thrived in a land the elves naturally avoided, but there was a part of her that wanted to run away with Nathaniel into The Evermoore and never look back.

  Reyna looked at Faylen and drew some strength from her mentor’s resolve. After all, they were not the only ones fighting to keep the peace. The princess thought of her mother, who was somewhere in the south of Ayda, a world away. Her mother had sacrificed much to find the dragons, leaving her home behind and all the comfort that befit a queen; an inspiration to all elves.

  Reyna knew that the life she wanted with Nathaniel was worth fighting for, even if she didn’t know what that looked like yet. First they would fight to bring an end to Valanis’ machinations, and then strike an accord between man and elf so that peace might reign again. Reyna fell asleep in Nathaniel’s arms and dreamt about what could be.

  18

  Insurrection

  Midnight had come and gone by the time Tauren son-of-none was in position outside the palace. After finalising the plan and going over the details of the patrols and the layout inside the fortress-like palace with Argo, Tauren had ordered the owls into various positions throughout the day, to avoid suspicion; after all, four hundred rebel slaves walking through the streets would draw the entire army out of their barracks. Every hour the owls had left the orphanage in small groups and waited patiently for the day they had all been training for.

  Tauren looked over the edge of the building to see Argo striding through the main gate, the only way in and out through the surrounding wall that protected the palace. The soldier had assured him that the men on the gate tonight were loyal to Halion, though he had owls on all sides of the wall with grappling equipment.

  The plan was simple, he reminded himself. First they take the grounds and replace the guards, armour and all. The guards at the front seal the gates after the owls go in to ensure the rest of the barracks don’t come to any aid if an alarm is raised. Then, while the bulk of the force works their way up through the towering palace, taking each floor at a time, Tauren scales the outside wall until he reaches the royal chambers. There he meets up with Halion, kills the wretch Rorsarsh and secures the boy-emperor, though in truth he had no idea what they were going to do with the child.

  “What do we do about the elves, or the Arakesh?” Braigo asked.

  Tauren had left out telling the owls about the elves as he didn’t want to complicate matters, but everyone knew the assassins were lurking in the shadows. The White Owl had told them to overwhelm the assassins if confronted. Superior numbers was the only way they could beat the legendary warriors.

  “Once we take the palace and hold the emperor hostage, they will be forced to flee.”

  The main gate remained partially open after Argo walked through. That was the signal. If the gates had closed completely then there was something wrong and the guards had changed. Braigo cupped his hands together and imitated the call of an owl; the reaction was immediate, with the surrounding buildings, lining the edge of the palace walls, coming to life. Owls dashed out from their hiding places and made for the wall with their grappling equipment, while Tauren made his way down into the alley and headed for the main gate.

  Karath was silent but for the light footfalls of the running owls. No one yelled in defiance and no horns were blown in alarm, as the owls quickly made their way over the wall and into the palace gardens. Tauren looked through the holes in his mask and examined the expressions of the guards on the gate, searching for any sign of betrayal. As ordered, the guards closed the gates and barred the massive doors behind him. It would require many hours of battering to open the gate from the outside.

  No talking was needed when the owls descended upon the royal estate. Their years on the streets had gifted them many skills; chief among them was the ability to move unseen and unheard. Those natural talents, combined with the training he had passed on from Salim, made them a deadly opponent. Tauren ran through the gardens, between the palm trees and thick hedges, with a throwing knife in each hand, ready to silence any guards that were off their patrol routes.

  A pair of soldiers dropped in the distance without a sound, as a group of owls ambushed them on the path. Tauren paid them little attention and instead began his climb up the palace walls. Braigo gave him an affirming nod from below and disappeared into the palace with the owls at his back. So far everything had gone according to plan and with no loss of life on their side. Tauren pushed any thoughts from his mind and focused on the climb. He was well accomplished in scaling almost every surface, but he had never attempted anything as tall as the palace; then again, he had never seen anything outside of Karath.

  It took just over half an hour to reach the balcony belonging to one of the state rooms. Relieved, Tauren hopped over the edge and rubbed his sore forearms and flexed his fingers. The plush chamber held nothing of interest to the White Owl, and he crept into the hall in search of stairs - there was still some climbing to go.

  Argo’s information continued to prove accurate, as he turned the corner and found the spiral staircase used by the palace’s slaves. He took heart in the thought that the first few floors would already be under their control.

  Tauren stopped halfway up the staircase and held his breath. The sound of clinking armour and heavy footsteps echoed from above, descending towards him. The White Owl crept back the way he had come and flattened himself to the wall at the base of the staircase. There wasn’t supposed to be any patrols in this wing, but the two guards were pleasantly chatting about their next meal. Tauren couldn’t tell which soldiers were sympathetic to the cause, and so he left his blades in their sheaths. Steel wasn’t required to subdue a pair of ordinary guards, though he would never tell Halion such a thing.

  As they took their last step off the staircase, Tauren swung his arm into the nearest guard with the edge of his flattened hand. The side of his knuckle connected with the man’s throat and launched him back up the staircase in a choking mess. The second guard jumped in surprise; a crucial moment in which he might otherwise have put up a fight. Tauren however, was already dropping to one knee and, in the same fluid motion, he pushed his elbow into the man’s knee, bringing them both to the same level. The White Owl jumped back to his feet, while simultaneously removing the guard’s helmet, where he could thrust the man’s exposed head into the spiralling banner. He was unconscious before he hit the floor, unlike the first guard who was rolling around the stairs in a desperate bid to suck some air into his lungs. Tauren grabbed him roughly by the collar and similarly removed his helmet so he wouldn’t break his knuckles on the man’s nose.

  To give him as much time as possible before any alarm was raised, Tauren dragged the bodies into the empty room and closed the door. He paused on the stairwell and tilted his head to listen for any commotion above or below. It seemed his owls were performing well, just as he had trained them.

  As he moved deeper into the palac
e, Tauren took stealthier measures to remain hidden from the increasing number of guards. By the time he was reaching the upper levels he had but to simply follow his nose. Growing up on the streets gave him a particular affinity for sniffing out food, especially when it had been cooked by the royal chefs.

  At the final corridor he came face-to-face with the door that separated him from the Supreme Commander and the boy-emperor.

  Something wasn’t right…

  The corridor should be lined with honour guards, where Salim had once stood, ready to give their life for the emperor. The smell of the cooked meat told Tauren that the feast was definitely beyond the door, but there was no talk on the other side.

  Something was definitely wrong.

  Tauren knew he should find the nearest window and blow a clear note on the horn he carried on his belt. That would alert the owls that the plan was to be immediately abandoned and they should meet back up at dawn, in the south of the city. But he didn’t. Tauren had come this far and curiosity had wormed its way into his mind.

  Checking every alcove and shadow, Tauren slowly approached the double-doors with the lightest of feet. With his ear pressed to the door, he was sure he could hear the sound of Rorsarsh’s greedy mouthfuls. He had to know. The White Owl steadied his breathing and tried to recall some words of wisdom from Salim’s teachings, but nothing came to mind. He just wanted to kill and tear and destroy the lives of those who inflicted so much misery on The Arid Lands. The son-of-none thrust open the door with two throwing knives balanced in one hand, ready to throw at whoever attacked him first.

  Tauren lost all heart at the sight that greeted him, his bloodlust immediately dispirited. Through dark, swollen eyes, Halion lifted his battered head and looked upon his brother with despair.

  “I’m sorry...” Halion croaked with watery, bloodshot eyes.

  His brother was strapped to an expensive looking chair in the middle of the chamber, with his hands bound behind his back. His armour and clothes had been striped and tossed aside so that he sat naked, covered from head-to-toe in blood, both fresh and dry. Halion had been sat in that chair for some time. His face was barely recognisable after all the blows he had received, and his flesh was marred with burns and gaping wounds. His bare feet slipped around atop the puddle of blood beneath his chair.

  Tauren dragged his sight from Halion and looked at the man in white, standing beside him. Next to him was another man with broad shoulders and a thick jaw. He was an Arakesh by the looks of him, but he didn’t have the red cloth around his eyes, only the blades on his back.

  Off to the side, Rorsarsh gorged himself on a large piece of meat, his appetite unaffected by the smell of blood and piss. Emperor Faro was nowhere to be seen, he noted.

  “You must be the White Owl I keep hearing about.” The man in flowing, white robes flashed a confident smile his way. “I applaud your skill young warrior, for not just anyone can slay an Arakesh, let alone three.” The man swept his robes behind his back and slowly walked behind Halion. “This must come as a bit of a surprise, I’m sure. You were expecting to take this palace and reset the order of things in Karath, nay the entire Arid Lands.” There was a note of respect in his tone, if a hint of mocking. “Where are my manners? My name is Alidyr Yalathanil, this is Ro Dosarn, your brother’s personal torturer, and of course I’m sure you know Supreme Commander Rorsarsh over there.”

  Tauren wanted to respond to the elf, but his rage kept his lips sealed and his muscles tensed.

  “Run...” Halion strained against his bonds. “Run…”

  “Will that be all, Father?” The familiar voice came from behind Tauren, in the doorway.

  The White Owl swivelled round to see Argo standing perfectly at ease. How had he approached Tauren without being heard?

  “Thank you Argo,” Alidyr replied. “Find the others and kill them all.”

  Argo nodded and removed his helmet, only to replace it with a strip of red cloth across his eyes. Tauren felt his knees go weak at the revelation. An Arakesh had walked freely through the orphanage, telling them what they wanted hear via secrets gained from Halion’s bloody lips. The entire plan was unravelling before him and there was nothing he could to stop it.

  The House of Owls was going to fall.

  The elf in white lost his smile. “Unlike my kin across The Adean, I have bore witness to the rise and fall of your various kingdoms over the last millennium. I have seen firsthand the treachery and deceit your kind are capable of. I was there when King Gal Tion, the first of his name, rallied mankind and forced the elves out of Illian. I was there when he declared war on the dragons. I was there when his most trusted turned against him. You might say I have a unique insight into humanity.” Alidyr pulled Halion’s head back by his thick hair. “I know a rat when I see one...”

  “You will die for this!” Tauren replied through gritted teeth.

  Alidyr gave a short laugh. “It has been a long time since I entertained the thought of my death. I see no reason why I should consider it today.”

  Rorsarsh finally stopped eating. “Your rebellion is at an end, little owl. The New Dawn will rule these lands for all time!”

  Tauren’s hand twitched and one of the throwing knives took flight. The blade found its end deep inside the Supreme Commander’s throat. He gargled and dropped to his knees with fresh blood pouring from his mouth. The fat man’s face quickly turned red, then purple before he finally collapsed on the floor, dead.

  “Well that saves me a job,” Ro Dosarn commented.

  Tauren let fly his second blade with another casual throw, aimed to strike the assassin in the head. At the last moment, Alidyr stepped in and amazingly caught the knife mid-throw, inches from Ro’s face. Elven speed was a wonder to watch, if terrifying.

  Alidyr examined the small blade. “You have but this one chance to live, and maybe even save your brother’s life. Lead the Karathan forces and put your skills to good use. The Darkakin are coming through those gates; at least this way you will maintain a measure of control and keep your city from being reduced to ash under their heel.” Before the White Owl could respond, Alidyr spoke again. “Take a care, Tauren son-of-none. Your next words might well be your last.”

  Tauren looked at Halion, bloody and battered as tears cut lines through his swollen cheeks. Even now, his owls were being hunted down inside the palace and slaughtered by the assassins. Should he take the offer and save Halion’s life at least? He didn’t care about his own life, but he couldn’t bear to see his brother lose another drop of blood.

  The thought of giving up now was crippling, however. Tauren had been fighting for as long as he could remember and not just for the sake of fighting like so many did on the streets. He had been fighting for a cause greater than himself, or any of the owls for that matter. It was a cause even greater than his adoptive brother.

  With one hand concealed behind his dark cloak, Tauren gripped the coiled rope and felt for the four-pronged hook. He wanted to say something, anything that would leave them with a lasting impression of the atrocities Tauren would unleash upon them when next they met, or at least assure Halion that he would return to save him. But Salim’s teachings were ever present in his mind, and warned him of such foolishness. His best chance of escape was over the open balcony, to his left.

  Giving no indication, Tauren dashed to his left, his cape blowing out behind him. That was when the shadowed figure stepped out of the darkness. Had he been standing there the entire time? How had Tauren not noticed his presence? He had no time to ponder on the questions however, as a whip, which appeared to glow from within its strands, lashed out. The three prongs at the head of the whip caught the White Owl across the mask and sent him flying across the room. The helmet had been cracked from jaw to head and even cut Tauren above the eye. How could a whip cause so much damage?

  The shadowy figure stepped into the light and Tauren saw the face that would surely be the death of him. It was another elf, like Alidyr, but bald and very pale, with i
ntricate tattoos arching over his head. His armour was black and gold with similar glyphs to his tattoos, worked into the plating. This had to be Nakir Galvörd.

  “You have been an irritation for some time.” Nakir coiled his whip and replaced it on his hip. “I hear you have been trained by an Honour Guard...” The elf looked back to Halion, the source of his knowledge. “It was I who created the Honour Guard, centuries ago, to protect my interests. My teachings and techniques have been passed down through the ages to keep the emperors safe. What good is a puppet if its strings are cut?” Nakir turned his back on Tauren and walked away. “Let us see what you have learned, White Owl.”

  Tauren placed his hands either side of his head and flipped back onto his feet. The owl mask was broken but he could still see clearly. More than anything he wanted to head-butt the elf so that the jagged metal might cut into his pale skin. Salim’s teachings and words of wisdom abandoned him now. Tauren could only see red.

  The White Owl launched into an attack that would confuse, disarm and defeat any soldier in the army. But Nakir was no soldier. He was an elf that had been fighting in wars before The Arid Lands had even been named so.

  Nakir moved with the grace of a cat and the supernatural speed of a basilisk. Their arms and fists connected in a series of blows that was hard to follow, but every attack of Tauren’s was either blocked, pushed aside or used against him. Eventually, Nakir pulled Tauren into him and rammed his pale head into the owl mask, before landing a simple punch to his sternum. The combination of blows sent Tauren flying across the room once more. Somehow, Tauren had come off worse from being hit in the head, and was forced to blink several times to correct his vision.

  “Your technique shows promise,” Nakir’s raspy voice commented. “But you haven’t been forced to give your all for some time. I suppose killing slavers and running into the occasional patrol doesn’t offer much challenge.”