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

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  The gust of smoke and rubble swept through the streets in every direction. Faylen coughed and stumbled to her feet when strong arms gripped her waist and elbow. Through the haze she could make out Asher’s grizzly features as he pulled her to her feet.

  “Back to the Axe.” The ranger directed his instruction to Reyna and Nathaniel, who were helping Atharia to her feet.

  Hadavad stood in the middle of the street, watching the tower of Gadavance crumble with a satiated smile pushing his wrinkles together.

  Malliath’s vibrant, purple eyes bore into Gideon as he fell backwards, beside Galanör. A low rumble echoed inside the dragon’s throat and he slowly moved his wings, shifting his entire body to face them. It was impossible to decipher Malliath’s expression, as he always appeared fierce with his spiralling horns and razor-sharp teeth.

  Gideon wanted to look around for the other dragons, but didn’t dare make any sudden movements. For a moment he wondered if he should even be looking the dragon in the eyes, aware that there were some creatures who took it as an insult or a challenge.

  Galanör slowly stood up before genuflecting with his head bowed in respect. Whether Malliath interpreted it as respect was another matter. Gideon felt the dragon’s eyes shift to him, so he copied Galanör’s actions and bowed slowly.

  “The queen of the elves is being held prisoner in Malaysai, the city where the younglings were being forced to fight.” Galanör clearly didn’t know where to start or how much time they would have. “If you could fly me out of here, we could go there together and free her as well as destroying –”

  Galanör’s next word was lost in Malliath’s roar. Both human and elf were instantly covered in hot dragon saliva and driven backwards by the sheer force of his roar. Everything happened in the blink of an eye after that. Gideon felt a strong elven arm push him several feet to his right, before Galanör himself dived to the left, over the log. Malliath exhaled a jet of fire that scorched the ground where they had been standing and cut a line through the field.

  Gideon stood up, only to dive back to the ground again when Malliath’s powerful tail whipped over his head. The ground shook and kicked up Gideon’s weight in dirt when the spike-covered tail hammered down. At least he got the tail end, he thought; Galanör had the fire-breathing end to deal with.

  More fire lit up the dark night as Malliath followed Galanör on foot, across the clearing. The elf was forced to leap, roll and dive in every direction to avoid being burned alive. There was no magic or weapon that could get him out of this one. But perhaps Malliath’s attention could be split?

  With his staff in hand, Gideon fired a destructive spell at the ground, beside Malliath’s head. The explosive force aggravated the dragon and made him turnabout in search of the cause.

  “Oh shit…”

  Malliath’s purple eyes flared, narrowing on Gideon. His tail whipped around and the dragon charged for the mage, who was frozen in place, wondering what shielding spell could stand up to a charging dragon.

  “Run!” Galanör shouted from the distance. His cloak was smoking with small flames licking the bottom of the material.

  Malliath’s mighty feet thundered across the clearing and Gideon could see the other dragons were too far away to do anything. That was his fault! The mage raised his staff, ready to plant it into the ground and raise a globe of shielding around him - the only option left to him. As Malliath’s open maw descended on Gideon, a green blur exploded from the left and intercepted the black dragon. Gideon was forced to jump aside in an attempt to avoid the combined bulk of both dragons, stumbling and rolling across the ground. Their roars filled his ears, though one was definitely quieter than the other...

  “Ilargo!” Gideon saw the green dragon snapping at Malliath’s neck and clawing desperately at his thick scales.

  Even though Ilargo was less than half the size of Malliath, his charge had been enough to knock the mighty dragon aside, saving the mage’s life.

  Malliath roared in defiance and smashed his considerable head into Ilargo’s, knocking the smaller dragon to the ground. Malliath dipped his head in a flash and bit Ilargo’s back leg with enough force to break the scales and draw blood.

  “NO!” Gideon cried. He could feel the dragon’s pain as if it were his own; even his leg began to hurt and the mage felt warm blood trickling down to his ankle.

  Without a sound, Malliath was set upon by three massive dragons. Gideon recognised Emenar the golden one and Beldroga the great hunter, but the largest by far was Vorgraf the mountain child. Vorgraf was the only living offspring of the legendary Garganafan, the old king of the dragons, who gave his life to trap Valanis within the Amber Spell. Vorgraf matched Malliath in size but there were none who could match the black dragon’s rage and ferocity.

  Thankfully, their assault was enough to give Ilargo time to limp away from the brawl. The green dragon came to a stop by Gideon’s side and the mage felt a wave of relief flow out from Ilargo. The dragon was happy that Gideon survived, but his nostrils flared when the fresh blood began to fill the mage’s boot.

  “Are you hurt?” Galanör appeared on the other side of the dragon, covered in ash and sweat.

  Any answer from the mage was drowned out by the roars of all four dragons. Vorgraf had gripped Malliath’s head between his front claws and moved him about viciously in an attempt to bite his neck. Beldroga the great hunter had practically mounted the black dragon, to pin his wings in place, while Emenar the golden one wrapped their tails together and pinned them both to the ground.

  The sound of giant wings battered the air before Galandavax and Rainael dropped out of the sky. Adriel deftly slipped off the side of the ebony dragon and made for Gideon and Galanör. Rainael the emerald star strode over to Malliath’s struggling mass and simply stared at him. The look was intense, but Gideon could feel a great sense of calm emanating from the queen of the dragons. After a few moments of continued struggling, Malliath relented under their combined efforts and dropped to his belly.

  “Adriel…” Gideon began before the ancient elf held up a hand.

  “I already know what has transpired.” Adriel glanced at the massive dragons behind him. “You are not to come here again.” There was a hint of irritation in the usually calm elf.

  “Adriel –” Galanör was cut off.

  “Do you understand?”

  Gideon had never seen Adriel wear such a grave expression. Both of them nodded solemnly and turned for the woods, their heads sunk with guilt. Gideon had a last look back at Ilargo and tried to hide his own limp as they left the clearing.

  “That went well,” Gideon jested, still in shock. “Considering…”

  15

  The Journey To War

  Tauren ignored the fresh cuts and bruises that the Arakesh had left him with, and continued to run under the growing heat of the rising sun. The son-of-none had already completed one lap of Karath’s circumference, as he did every morning, and was half way around on his second lap. Flashes of the fight with the assassins played over and over in his mind. Tauren had come closer to death that night than any other, at least before Salim found and tutored him.

  He wanted to push himself, he needed to push himself.

  With every minute, the heat of The Arid Lands increased, threatening to dehydrate Tauren before he reached Mother Madakii’s home, his home, and that of a hundred others with no parents. With the high wall to his left, Tauren looked out to his right where Syla’s Gate stood, a relic of the old world, a time when the elves walked in Illian. The massive gates were fixed in the mouth of the valley, barring the path into the Undying Mountains that decorated the south of Illian. No human had seen the other side of those gates in centuries. Tauren couldn’t even remember which emperor had dismissed the last of those who stood guard, no longer required to keep watch over the empty pass.

  The sound of a dozen running feet and just as many grumbles brought Tauren from his reverie. He was moments from lapping a group of new recruits to the House of
Owls. Just as Salim had instructed Tauren to run around Karath every morning, so too did he instruct the owls. This particular group were relatively new and their stamina was untested. In less than a month they would each be able to keep up with him, and those who could not would be found a different role within the house.

  “The last through Mother Madakii’s door has to retrieve a sword from the northern barracks...” Tauren smiled when their sighs quickly changed to expressions of determination. The only thing they would want to do is eat when they finished, not go sneaking around the soldiers’ barracks.

  With a last glance at Syla’s Gate, Tauren ran on until he passed through the main gates in the north of Karath. Weaving through the streets and the vendors setting up for market, the White Owl quickly found his way back to Mother Madakii’s orphanage. The building was humble in appearance and in need of much repair, but Tauren liked it that way; no one looked twice at the decrepit place, let alone suspect it of being the headquarters to the House of Owls.

  As always, Tauren found Mother Madakii, a woman of great age, teaching a group of children, as well as being assisted by the older ones to hand out bowls of food. Some things would never change, he thought. He stopped for just a moment to look upon the children and remember why he put on that mask every night. If granting them their freedom required his death, he would gladly give it.

  Once inside his own room, Tauren removed his shirt with great difficulty. His torso was glistening with sweat and running over his fresh wounds. He didn’t like the others to see him in pain, or the toll this life had taken on his body. Every muscle heaved with his laboured breaths, revealing a patchwork of old scars and new - too many for one of his young age. Acquiring the skills necessary to defeat an Arakesh however, had required a lifetime of beatings.

  A familiar knock on the door brought a smile to his face.

  “Come in, Braigo.”

  His oldest friend walked in without his usual smile. “He’s here.”

  Tauren’s own smile faded. “Where is he?”

  “On the roof. He arrived not long before you.”

  Tauren looked up to the ceiling as if he could see his brother, Halion Al-Anan standing there. “Make sure the last –”

  “Retrieves a sword from the barracks,” Braigo finished for him. “I know.”

  The roof of the orphanage was flat for the exception of a large dome that occupied the centre. The sun continued to rise, casting long shadows over the tops of Karath’s rooftops. Tauren marched over to the corner where Halion stood, wrapped in a long cloak and shroud to conceal his head. The White Owl ignored his brother’s attempts to embrace and instead threw the hawk-like helmet at the commander’s feet.

  “What is this?” Halion asked as he bent to pick it up.

  “Where have you been?” Tauren demanded, his usual anger rising to the surface. “I have been trying to reach you for two days!”

  Halion held up a calming hand. “There have been developments...”

  “You mean like the Arakesh?” Tauren could see the surprise on Halion’s face, but not for the right reason.

  “They have attacked you?” Halion scanned Tauren’s body with a critical eye.

  “They stalk my owls from the shadows, myself included. Though I see their presence doesn’t surprise you.” Tauren added the latter with accusatory venom. “I’ve had to pull back half of our nightly patrols.”

  Halion sighed. “They have been instructed to patrol the city in secret. Their orders are simple; find owls and kill them.” The commander was about to turn away before adding, “And don’t think they only hunt at night, Tauren. The Arakesh have been trained to blend in to all cultures, day or night.”

  “How can you know these things?” Tauren asked.

  “I did it, brother...” Halion pulled one of his gloves off and held up his hand, where a familiar silver ring sat on his middle finger. “I have been brought into the inner circle of the New Dawn.”

  Tauren quickly reached out and held Halion’s finger in place, so that he might better inspect the ring.

  “Tell me everything.”

  The sun had risen a hand’s length in the sky before Halion was finished telling his tale. Tauren sat on the edge of the dome, his expression frozen in disbelief.

  “Elves… Darkakin...” the White Owl echoed, as if saying it out loud would make it more believable.

  “They call him Nakir,” Halion explained, “though I got the distinct impression that the other one was in charge.”

  “Ali...”

  “Alidyr Yalathanil. He was the one who brought the Arakesh.” Halion sat opposite his brother on the edge of the rooftop.

  “Elves have been controlling the New Dawn?” Tauren was still struggling with the idea of elves even being in Illian, let alone the thought of them being so wicked.

  “They serve Valanis,” Halion continued. “That is who the New Dawn has been working for all these years.”

  “I have heard that name before.” Tauren stood up and began pacing while he told Halion of Orfad’s last words.

  “Since being brought into the inner circle, Rorsarsh has had me followed, but I managed to get some time in the palace library. I have been looking through the old tomes for any information. I thought it was some kind of elven god, but then I found this...” Halion removed a scroll from within his robes and laid it out for Tauren to see. “He wasn’t a god. He was some mad elf that started a civil war a thousand years ago.”

  The scroll was old, but it clearly showed the account of something called the Dark War, though the scroll had been scribed by a human and not an elf, so it was most likely inaccurate, as so many legends were after passing through the generations. Tauren took it from Halion’s hands and inspected every inch of the parchment, paying close attention to the names throughout the text. Alidyr and Nakir were mentioned at least twice as being generals during the war.

  “I don’t understand any of this...” Tauren handed the scroll back to Halion, deflated.

  Not only were they fighting against the empire and the slavers, but now they were pitted against ancient elves, deadly assassins and an army of Darkakin, another legend come to life, all of which appeared to be involved in some conspiracy to invade Illian. This was much larger than just The Arid Lands and freeing the slaves. If the New Dawn succeeded in opening Syla’s Gate, the Darkakin would make slaves of all of Illian, a fate worse than death, if the old stories of their kind were true.

  “The arrival of the Arakesh is proof that we’ve become more than a thorn in their side,” Halion offered. “But more than that, it is rallying more of the men to our way of thinking. Everyday more of the soldiers complain of the assassins’ overbearing presence, not to mention a few casualties. Rorsarsh is losing his grip on the army, and when they see that he is working to open our city to the Darkakin –”

  “It will be too late by then!” Tauren paced over the hot rooftop. “If the Darkakin breach those gates it will all be over. If the amount of armour being made is any indication, we’re outnumbered...”

  Halion said nothing for a moment, his dark eyes glazed over in contemplation. “Then we act now.”

  Tauren looked up at his brother’s face and saw the hard resolve that he wore like armour. “It’s too soon to act, Halion. We planned on having more years before taking –”

  “You said it yourself; it will be too late by then. The Darkakin are marching towards our home this very moment! Do you have owls in the other cities?” Halion appeared desperate for the answer.

  “Of course, but –”

  “Send word, Tauren. Bring them all back to Karath, every owl you have.”

  “We cannot abandon those cities, brother. Every day they work to free new slaves.” Tauren was glad to see Halion finally thinking on an attacking foot, but this time frame was not as they had always planned.

  “If we control the head,” Halion swept his arm across Karath’s vista, “we control the body! One sweeping attack to take the palace! Only the
n will the army listen to me; once Rorsarsh is dead and the boy-emperor dethroned. The soldiers will fight for us, I know it. They have wives, children and parents in this city. They don’t want the Darkakin anywhere near their families.”

  Tauren looked away, out over the city he thought of as home and a prison all in one. Making a move against the palace now was risky with their numbers, but the added trouble of potentially fighting the Arakesh made the decision all the harder. He didn’t even want to think about fighting the elves. If it went wrong, the House of Owls would be crippled in a single night, Halion would be executed and everything they had worked towards for so many years would be for nothing. The alternative was far worse when Tauren considered it; to do nothing now would spell not only Karath’s doom, but all the free people of Illian.

  “Gather those in your ranks who are most faithful to our cause,” Tauren instructed Halion with the same expression of determination. “I will see to the owls.”

  Halion smiled. “So... we’re really doing it then? We’re going to war.”

  Tauren couldn’t find his own smile. “I fear war is coming to us, brother.” The White Owl looked to the south, where Syla’s Gate stood foreboding in the middle of the Undying Mountains.

  16

  Saying Farewell

  Nathaniel ascended the stairwell and entered the hubbub of The Pick-Axe, leaving Reyna and Faylen to meditate in peace. The elves required more time for their magic to coalesce and store inside the crystals, stolen from the tower of Gandavance. The entire heist had become far more dramatic than originally planned, with the whole tower crumbling into the streets. Thankfully they had fled the area before the city watch arrived.