Empire of Dirt: (Echoes of Fate: Book 2)

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “They must be ready by then!” the fat man spat. “Any delay will see our heads mounted on Syla’s Gate! This is to be the last transport out of the city. After tonight, all slaves are to be sent to the forges, understand?”

  Tauren’s interest was piqued, but he had to focus on the slaves below. If he killed Orfad too soon, he ran the risk that the others would be alerted and the slaves be put in jeopardy.

  Prioritise...

  The voice of his old mentor, Salim Al-Anan, rang clearly in his mind. The blind hatred he felt for the slavers fuelled him, sharpening his mind and focusing his senses. If he was to make an impact on the great families he would have to be smart about it; he couldn’t crush an empire and bring about a revolution by marching an army and swinging his sword at every slaver, even though he wanted to. He had to bring them down in the eyes of the people, give the slaves hope and the possibility of a better life. But most of all, Tauren wanted them to feel the same fear his parents had felt, the fear every slave lived with.

  The slaves were easy to spot on the ground floor. Two columns of cages, either side of a large wagon, were both filled to burst with men, women and children. Torches lined the four floors, illuminating the many guards that wandered up and down, mostly pretending to pay attention. Tauren couldn’t see a single slaver that didn’t look dead on his feet. It had been too long since the owls’ last raid. The slavers had forgotten the bite of his blades and the deadly accuracy with which he could throw them. The White Owl took a moment to single out the ones he wouldn’t kill. They were the ones that he would simply allow to run away. The cowards would spread his legend as well as lead him to the next slave house.

  Tauren came to a stop in the centre of the beam and gathered his black cape out behind him, noting the frayed edges and holes that marred the thick material. He would have to ask Mother Madakii to repair it for him, as she often had.

  For just a moment, Tauren was taken back to his teenage years, when his mentor, Salim, would take him out on such expeditions. As one of the emperor’s personal guards, Salim was among the best of all the warriors in Illian. Tauren would watch as the older man showed him the best way to take down multiple targets in a single, fluid movement, for speed was the key. Salim had always planned every step of his attack before moving a muscle, and so too did Tauren.

  he dagger slipped from the sheath at the base of his back with perfect ease. The balance felt right in his hand, while he twirled it end-over-end. Tauren held the knife out, tip down, and steadied his arm, waiting for the perfect moment. He took a deep breath from within his armoured helmet, and released the blade from his grip.

  Before the dagger dropped all four floors, and plunged into the passing slaver’s head, Tauren had already attached his hook to the beam and swung down to the second floor, where another slaver was strolling by. In perfect synergy, the dagger dived into the ground-floor slaver’s head, as Tauren flew into the second-floor guard. The White Owl drove one of his many daggers into the man’s heart, before swivelling on the spot and throwing it at the slaver on the opposite side of the second-floor. The blade spun across the expanse and ended its journey in the slaver’s eye. In five seconds he had already killed three of the guards.

  Tauren had no intention of stopping there; he was already jumping over the railing, and on top of the wagon, before the dagger impacted the third guard’s eyeball. In the same way that many animals changed their shape to appear threatening, so too could Tauren. He flipped backwards off the wagon and held his cape out wide like the wings of an owl, blocking the light from above and scaring the guards beside the wagon. As predicted, one of the slavers screamed and ran for the nearest door, while the other fancied his chances at making a name for himself. Tauren kept his blades in their sheaths and evaded the guard’s swing until he presented the perfect opportunity. Slipping under his wide swing was easy, almost as easy as snapping the slaver’s arm and breaking the bone. A swift fist to the face shattered his nose and sent the man stumbling from the building with a wobbly arm.

  The sound of rushing feet and calls for help could be heard above. Tauren stepped over the guard with a dagger buried in the top of his head, ducking only to retrieve the blade, and made for his new prey. The slaves called out from within their cages, begging to be set free, with their arms outstretched through the square gaps in the bars. Tauren was only too happy to oblige and removed one of the two short-swords strapped to his back, positioned so that the hilts were always facing downwards. A strong swing saw the meaty padlocks broken and the slaves flooded out.

  “Through there!” Tauren directed them to the correct exit. “Follow the owls.” On the other side of the double doors, three of his trusted owls were waiting, each wearing a white mask, similar his own.

  Two slavers descended the stairs and dropped onto the ground floor, brandishing a mace and a sword. Tauren lifted a pair of daggers from his hips and stood his ground, waiting for the guards to approach. First one to come at him appeared fresh off the street with an obvious lack of tattoos or scars. He had no idea what was about to happen to him. With one blade, Tauren batted the slaver’s sword away and rushed forward, bringing his other dagger to bear horizontally. In a second he was standing between the slaver wielding a mace and the now dead swordsman, whose throat gushed blood over the floor.

  The mace wielder lunged with his weapon held high and an expression somewhere between terror and rage. It didn’t matter. Tauren threw one of his daggers into the man’s chest and laid him low in an instant. Without missing a beat, the White Owl caught the mace in mid-air and flung it at the next guard, rushing down the stairs. The heavy mace cracked his knee and forced the man to roll down the steps in a heap. Tauren dropped to one knee and drove his knife into the slaver’s heart, before jumping back up and flicking the same blade at the guard at the top of the stairs. He too collapsed in a heap and rolled down the steps, dead.

  The cries of the slaves on the other side of the wagon stopped Tauren from continuing up the stairs and killing the rest. Once again, he used one of his short-swords to cut the padlock in half. The slaves thanked him and reached out to touch their hero - a proven distraction. Tauren only saw the arrow after it had flown by his head, skimmed the lip of his dark hood and dug deep into the chest of an old man. His attention focused; the creaking of more bowstrings had the White Owl spinning away, hoping to take their aim away from the slaves. He raised the black cloak across his body to hide his true size, forcing the second archer to miscalculate and fire his arrow through the material. Tauren responded with one of his heavier throwing knives and launched it up to the second floor, where the blade ended its journey in the archer’s head.

  “Run!” Tauren hurried the slaves out as the next archer notched an arrow.

  “For too long have you been a thorn in my enterprise!” Orfad shouted down from the top floor, his fat head leering over the railing. “Whoever brings me his head can live in my whorehouse!”

  More feet resounded from above as the slavers took up the challenge. Tauren used his youth and agility to jump on top of the wagon, between the slave cages. The arrow thudded into the wood, only an inch beneath his rising foot. He continued to run across the wagon and jump up to the first floor, where he swiped the legs of an oncoming slaver. Once on his back, Tauren crouched over the top of him and dropped his reinforced mask into the guard’s head, breaking his nose and rendering him unconscious. He would have quite the story to tell when he awoke.

  Another arrow whistled through the air and dug into the wooden beam beside Tauren’s arm. The White Owl made for the stairs and threw a small bag of Talo spices across the gap, his aim perfect. The bag of spices flew into the mounted torch, behind the archer, and exploded in a flash of blinding light. Tauren’s helmet muted some of the sound, allowing him to keep his senses, unlike the archer, who dropped his bow and covered his bleeding ears, as he stumbled around without his sight.

  Tauren ran round the warehouse, ascending every stairwell and throwing his bl
ades at every angle. Slavers dropped and fell over the railings on every floor. Those who evaded his throws experienced a crueller death, after Tauren unleashed his hand-to-hand combat and shattered bones.

  It wasn’t long before Tauren found himself back on the top floor, standing before Orfad’s office. Sixteen men lay dead behind him, and the seventeenth was already sweating and praying to the gods. Tauren kicked the door in so hard it broke the top hinges and deformed the door. Orfad yelped and jumped back with a bundle of scrolls and parchments screwed up in his arms.

  The White Owl slowly drew his favourite dagger from the strap across his chest, making certain that Orfad saw every inch of the blade that was going to end his life. The hilt of the dagger was sculpted into the shape of an owl, its head forming the pommel.

  Seeing no way of escaping his fate, Orfad’s fear turned to anger. “You have changed nothing, White Owl! Long after your body is dust, men like me will continue to trade in the lives of the weak!” Orfad laughed nervously. “You have no idea what’s coming. The House of Owls will crumble under Valanis!”

  Tauren had heard enough. All he could see was red. The White Owl launched over the table and pinned the fat slaver to the wall. The blade was too clean a kill for this monster, and Tauren’s rage had reached its crescendo. With Orfad’s head gripped between Tauren’s hands, he thrust his own head into the slaver’s, again and again. He head-butted Orfad over and over until the white of his mask was dripping red with blood. By the time he released the head, the fat man was unrecognisable.

  It took several minutes before Tauren regained his breath and calmed down enough to focus on the scrolls Orfad had clung to. He removed the folded parchments and took note of the heavy ring on the slaver’s finger. He had seen identical rings on previous targets, each one always embellished with the image of a sun and a black diamond in the centre.

  The New Dawn...

  Tauren had been trying to root out every member of the shadowy cult, who from what he had already discovered, had secretly ruled the south for decades, possibly even longer.

  He wiped the blood from his faceplate with one of Orfad’s expensive handkerchiefs and unravelled the parchments across the desk.

  “What is this?” Tauren looked over records and drawings of various pieces of armour.

  It was a receipt of some kind, with an order in the thousands!

  Tauren continued to unravel more parchment and poured himself over the information. Orfad was procuring tons of material and ore from the north to make armour and weapons for an army larger than any in The Arid Lands. And who was this Valanis he mentioned? Another slaver perhaps? Or another member of The New Dawn?

  The White Owl took the scrolls and the map and descended the warehouse, as he tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. The archer, stunned by the Talo spices, was still staggering around the second floor when Tauren walked by. He thought about leaving him, another witness to his devastating skills, when he remembered the old man the archer had killed. Tauren shoved his favourite dagger up into the man’s jaw until it pierced his brain and killed him, instantly. It seemed a shame for the blade to have seen no blood, after all.

  Tauren strolled outside without fear, ever aware that he was the most dangerous man on the streets. The sound of fighting and swords clashing were never too far away these days, as slaves and sympathisers took up arms against their oppressors. He knew that his owls weren’t among the distant combatants, as he had them organised in other parts of the city. The White Owl always knew where they were and what goals he had assigned them.

  For just a moment he feared what chaos he had inspired. How many slaves would die picking up his cause without ever even meeting him, or stepping foot in the House of Owls? How many were dying right now because of his anger?

  The sound of approaching hooves returned him to the moment in an instant. The White Owl dashed for the shadows of the alley and waited. Four black horses galloped down the dark street and came to an abrupt stop outside Orfad’s warehouse. Tauren knew these men to be members of the city guard and soldiers in the emperor’s army. Three of the riders wore their traditional silver and gold armour, with their helmets concealing their faces. The fourth rider however, wore a long blue cloak over the top of his armour and didn’t bother with a helmet, his authority came from recognition.

  “Check inside,” the helmet-less commander ordered.

  All four dismounted and the three soldiers entered the warehouse with their swords drawn. The commander waited outside and looked around the empty streets and dark alleys, his hand always resting on the pommel of his sword.

  “Halion Al-Anan...” Tauren called softly from the alley.

  The commander didn’t flinch at the sound of his name, the seasoned warrior no doubt expecting such a call. Halion’s olive skin and wavy, dark hair were cast in shadows as he entered the alley, unafraid. Tauren stepped out and made himself known, his hands still hidden within his black cape. Still Halion walked towards him with his gloved hand squeezing the hilt of his sword. Tauren knew how fast Halion could remove that blade and plunge it into his opponent. At the point at which both men could strike the other down, Halion smiled and Tauren offered the commander his arm, who instead embraced the White Owl and pulled him in for a tight hug.

  “Good to see you, brother!” Tauren’s voice was distorted by his mask.

  “And you.” Halion’s smile turned sour at the sight of the blood streaked across Tauren’s white mask. “Are you hurt?”

  “Of course not!” Tauren pulled away and removed his helmet and hood. “Your father taught me better than that.”

  Halion’s expression of relief quickly faded at the mention of his father, and Tauren regretted his words instantly. For Tauren, Salim Al-Anan’s exile from The Arid Lands was hard to deal with and his loss weighed heavy on the White Owl’s heart, but for Halion, the loss had been tenfold. Not only had the young warrior had to watch his father be stripped of his rank, humiliated and then exiled to the bitter north, but Halion had been forced to remain and carry his father’s shame. Publicly acknowledging his father’s mistakes had been the only way to distance himself from Salim and rise through the ranks. Halion’s climb to second in command of the emperor’s army hadn’t been an easy one, but a necessary one.

  “My father’s lessons were instructive,” Halion replied. “I only wish he had taken better heed of them himself.”

  Tauren had never stopped thinking about that night, the night Emperor Kolosi and his wife had been slaughtered in their private chambers, under Salim’s very nose.

  Noise from the warehouse stopped Tauren from dwelling on Salim, his adoptive father, and focus on the present. He looked beyond Halion to make certain that the soldiers weren’t exiting the building and searching for their commander.

  “Don’t worry,” Halion bade. “They are trusted men.”

  That didn’t completely convince Tauren. “How can you be sure they aren’t loyal to Rorsarsh?”

  Just thinking about the supreme commander of the emperor’s forces made the White Owl’s blood boil. Rorsarsh was an avid supporter of slavery and was most definitely a member of The New Dawn. Unfortunately, he was also Halion’s direct commander.

  “I started separating my men from his men a long time ago, brother.” Halion made a cursory glance over the surrounding rooftops and Tauren knew he was searching for any other owls.

  “You need to kill him and be done with it,” Tauren said.

  “Slavery is an ancient evil that I wholeheartedly agree needs eradicating, but Rorsarsh will die at the right time. You talk of my father’s training; did he not teach you patience? The tide is still turning and I’m not sure we would win in an all-out war right now.”

  “Well I think that’s what they’re preparing for.” Tauren handed over the stolen scrolls from Orfad’s office.

  “This... this can’t be right.” Halion looked over the parchment in confusion. “The order is too large. We don’t even need this much armour o
r weapons.”

  “Exactly, so who do they think is going to be wearing it all?” Tauren pressed.

  “Who are they?”

  “The New Dawn of course!” Tauren threw up his hands, exasperated. “The same cult that runs this country.”

  “That still doesn’t answer why they have ordered so much material.” Halion, ever the calm one, rolled up the scroll and handed it back to Tauren. “I will investigate.”

  “No, I will look into it,” Tauren quickly replied. “You will only appear suspicious if you go poking your nose into The New Dawn’s business anymore than you already have. It’s a miracle of the gods that they haven’t already tried to indoctrinate you.”

  Halion smiled. “That’s a big word for an alley-rat.”

  Tauren smiled at the nick-name his adoptive brother had given him all those years ago, when Salim had first saved him from a beating in the streets, and seen something in Tauren that no one had before.

  “Continue to sway more soldiers to our cause.” Tauren replaced his mask and hood. “I will look into this new development.”

  “Be safe, little brother.” Halion was on his own in moments, as Tauren slipped into the shadows and disappeared.

  8

  The Rangers

  The Evermoore surrounded them on their journey north, the natural sounds of the forest filling Reyna’s ears and reminding her of home. If she closed her eyes, and ignored the clopping of hooves, the princess could pretend she was back in The Amara. The mighty forest surrounded her home, Elandril, and was easily her favourite place in all of Ayda. Though she didn’t mind the smell of the human hubbub, she was appreciative of nature’s scents, as was Ölli, who flew above them, following their trail.