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

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Find the ranger…

  Paldora’s sweet voice whispered in his ear. The herald cursed the Outlander, wondering how a savage from The Wild Moores could be so entwined with his own fate.

  “Master!” Thallan, padrone of the sword, ran through the tunnel. His emerald blade, gifted to him by Valanis, was resting on his hip as always.

  “Thallan…” Valanis took his subject’s hand and pulled himself to his feet. “Help me to the pools.”

  Thallan helped his master to remove his robes and mask before Valanis fell into the sparkling pool. The relief was instantaneous. The dark elf stayed under the magical waters for a moment, allowing his strength to return and any risk of seizure die away. When he finally rose above the surface, Thallan was waiting eagerly by the edge, his pale features marred with concern.

  “Has there been any word from Alidyr?” Valanis rasped.

  “No, master.” There was some joy in Thallan’s response. “The ranger’s fate remains unknown to him. He has met with the council in Karath; both he and Nakir are preparing to open Syla’s Gate.”

  Valanis sighed. “They will not be able to open those gates; I see that now. Even I have not the power to undo the spells cast over it.”

  Thallan hesitated. “But then… how will the Darkakin enter The Arid Lands?”

  Valanis smiled. “I believe the gods have already answered that question, Thallan. You however, will just have to have faith.”

  It was clear that Thallan had more questions, but the elf remained silent, trusting in his master.

  As the General made to leave, he turned back to the pools and asked, “Master, what have you been searching for? I could feel you in Dragorn and then in Stowhold.”

  Valanis began to sink back into the pool. “Faith, Thallan. You must have faith.”

  17

  Upon The Edge Of A Blade

  Tauren skulked on the landing, leaning over the dusty rail, as he looked down at the orphans being herded together and counted by the older children. They had been escorted from the orphanage in groups, like this one, for the last two days, taken to secret places of refuge elsewhere in the city. As the children departed, the owls arrived from across The Arid Lands in similar groups to avoid arousing suspicion. Tregaran, the most northern city in the desert was the only place that hadn’t yet been completely emptied of his agents, but they would soon arrive. Then they would go to war in earnest.

  He met the eyes of every owl, each as young as him, and nodded his thanks. They had all grown accustomed to the cities Tauren had sent them too, and it was asking a lot for them to abandon any plans and ride for Karath at a moment’s notice. They were loyal, he thought proudly. Every one of them was loyal not just to the cause, but to him personally. Tauren had used Salim’s techniques to train all of them, ensuring they could each do more than just defend themselves. He had turned them all into killers and he didn’t regret it for a single second. His only regret was the size of his force.

  Tauren looked at their faces and wondered which of them wouldn’t make it through this. This part of his plan had always involved more owls and several more years of preparation. These were his brothers and sisters, people he had grown up with on the streets, people he had survived with.

  “You look troubled, my boy…” Mother Madakii came to stand by the railing.

  Most of her body was hidden beneath robes and a colourful head scarf, revealing only her wrinkled face and welcoming brown eyes. Her years in the desert had hardened her skin and Tauren knew that was the truth in more ways than one.

  “I’m asking a lot of them.”

  “You think they aren’t ready?” Mother Madakii asked, skeptically.

  “I’m not sure any of us are ready for what’s coming.” Tauren thought about the approaching Darkakin army and the unbelievable appearance of the elves. “What do you think, Mother?” He had valued her opinion for as long as he could remember.

  Mother Madakii thought for a moment. “I think they have been freeing slaves every day since you trained them, and I know you trained them well.”

  Tauren glanced at the Mother, aware of the disapproval in her voice, though not with him, but rather with Salim Al-Anan for training him in the first place. The two had never quite agreed on Salim taking Tauren under his wing as a teenager, and Mother Madakii had made that quite clear to the older warrior on more than one occasion.

  “However…” Mother Madakii continued with a sombre tone, “if what Halion says is true and history is accurate; the Darkakin will make the slavers irrelevant. There will be no free people left to fight when they are finished with our land.”

  Tauren digested her wise words. “So you think we should do this? You think we should take the palace?”

  “I think the House of Owls stands on the edge of a blade. You will either take the palace and our ranks will swell until all are free. Or you will fail, and the House of Owls will be wiped from history by the New Dawn. It’s going to be quite the night...” Mother Madakii added some levity and a smile to her serious speech.

  Despite his sour mood, Tauren couldn’t help but be infected by that smile. Mother Madakii rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her hands around his arm. They enjoyed a moment together, mother and adopted son. In truth she was closer in age to be his grandmother, but even to this day Tauren had never met his parents or discovered which grand family they belonged to.

  “I will be going with the last group of children,” Mother Madakii commented as she moved away. “Try not to get my house too dirty.” She stopped on the landing and looked back. “You must return to me, Tauren.” The Mother’s expression and tone suggested she wasn’t to be argued with. “And make sure everyone wipes their feet on the way in!” Tauren could only see the back of her when she made her last remark, but it still made him smile.

  A sharp whistle, from the hall below, caught Tauren’s attention. Braigo was standing in the middle of the hall with alarm spreading across his face.

  “The lookouts have spotted a lone soldier walking this way.”

  A curious thing. “On his own?” Tauren’s question was met with a nod. “Stop the last group of children from leaving and hide their bags. Keep the owls in the back and –”

  “He’s got a white band around his arm.” Braigo interrupted, aware of the fabric’s significance.

  Halion and Tauren had come up with several methods of contacting one another over the years; one of which was a soldier he trusted with a white cloth around his arm. This was unexpected though. Halion himself was supposed to be coming at sunset, to finalise the details of the attack.

  “Divert him through the back, have the lookouts retrace his steps and make certain he wasn’t followed.” Tauren dashed to the other side of the orphanage, leaving Braigo to carry out his orders.

  A few minutes later, the soldier was being bundled through a back door and surrounded by Tauren and three armed owls. In the tussle, one of the owls slid the soldier’s sword from its scabbard and pushed him against the wall. They weren’t taking any chances with so many of their forces in one place.

  “A nice day for a walk…” Tauren said. If the soldier didn’t give the correct response he would never see home again.

  “I was hoping for rain…” the soldier replied with some trepidation.

  Tauren let his shoulders relax and he dismissed the owls, giving Braigo a nod in the doorway. The soldier realised that he wasn’t about to die and removed his short-pointed helmet and held it under his arm, inspecting the surroundings.

  “Not what you expected?” Tauren looked around the cramped room, full of junk collected over the decades.

  “I can’t believe you’ve nearly toppled an empire from inside… this. I thought it was –”

  “Why has Halion sent you?” Tauren didn’t have time for long-winded observations.

  The Soldier stood a little straighter, not used to be spoken to in this manner, and especially by someone out of uniform. Tauren tried to appear less tense and r
emember that it was a miracle that there were any soldiers who disagreed with slavery. He should be thankful that Halion had even got through to as many as he had. Tauren wanted to free the slaves; he didn’t want to cripple the country by eradicating its forces and killing the people’s husbands, brothers and sons. The Arid Lands only stood a chance of thriving after the new regime if there were people left to live in it.

  “Forgive me,” Tauren held up a hand, “my responsibilities have increased today. My name is Tauren son-of-none.”

  The soldier bowed slightly, as if accepting his apology. “My name is Argo Nor-Valen. Commander Halion has sent me with his regrets. He cannot attend tonight’s… meeting.”

  “Why not?” Tauren asked immediately.

  “Supreme Commander Rorsarsh has invited him to dinner in the palace. He has sent me with the details you require to take the palace.” Argo revealed a rolled up scroll inside his breastplate.

  “So while we fight for our lives he’s going to enjoy some fine dining?” Tauren’s temper was rising again. This was just typical of his brother!

  “He would fall under suspicion if he were to decline.” Argo rose to his commander’s defence, as any owl would do for Tauren. “Emperor Faro will be present for the meal…”

  Was that Halion’s game? While they secured the palace, he would secure the boy-emperor? More likely he would enjoy the meal and wait for Tauren to do all the hard work!

  “So he sends you in his place, in the middle of the day and dressed in full armour no-less.” Tauren looked Argo up and down, still slave to his temper.

  “I wasn’t followed.”

  “We will determine that,” Tauren snapped. “There are still those among your ranks who believe slavery is a natural way of life. They might find it suspicious in a time of rebellion, for one of their own to go for a stroll on his own in a neighbourhood where entire battalions don’t dare tread.”

  “I wasn’t followed,” Argo replied firmly.

  “Tauren…” Braigo was standing in the doorway again. “Every owl from Hervona and Ameeraska are accounted for.”

  Tauren took a breath to calm himself. “What of Tregaran?”

  “Most of them will be here by sunset.” Braigo glanced at Argo with a critical eye.

  Tauren bade Argo to follow him and Braigo into the hall where the children usually had their meals. Now it was filled to burst with just over four hundred owls.

  The White Owl turned to the soldier. “Perhaps we should go over these… details.”

  The Centaurs had led the group of rangers and elves across the Moonlit Plains, to a hidden clearing within one of the smaller forests. The centaurs had built humble shelters, filled mostly with straw and gathered food. Despite all the horrible things humans said about the blood thirsty creatures, Reyna could only see vegetables and fruit dotted around the camp. The centre of the site was occupied by a large pyre that made most hearths look relatively inadequate by comparison.

  The sun was on its way down when the princess felt she could leave Faylen in the hands of the Centaurs. Reyna had spent most of the day keeping watch over her and using magic where she could to restore Faylen’s energy, but her magical talents had always fared better on physical wounds. Two Centaurs crowded around Faylen and applied their herbal medicines to her skin and offered prayers to the gods for restoration. Dark rings marred her mentor’s eyes and her pale complexion had turned almost ghostly now. Opening a portal to transport so many had been too taxing, even with Reyna’s combined efforts.

  Reyna was angry with herself for not taking more time to practice the art of magic. The princess had always taken to her bow or a sword, allowing her natural magic ability to fall by the wayside.

  “It’s not your fault.” Surprisingly, it was Asher and not Nathaniel waiting for her outside the hut. “Don’t blame yourself.”

  The ranger’s cool blue eyes put Reyna at ease as they strolled across the camp together. “If only you still had your ring,” Reyna looked at Asher’s hand, noticeably absent of Paldora’s gem, “you could have restored her with no effort at all, or even opened a portal all the way to Nightfall.”

  “Even with the shard I was still a novice in the ways of magic.” Asher was among the hardest of humans to read, giving little expression to his words. “I think it would still have been be safer to allow Faylen to open the portals, even if she needs time to recover.”

  “She likes you, you know...” Reyna didn’t know exactly why she said that. “She enjoys your company, that is. She doesn’t show it, she’s almost as hard to read as you are, but she does like you.”

  Their conversation came to an end when they reached the others, who had all huddled together so that they might better observe the wild Centaurs that trotted around the camp. Doran had already started a small fire and was busy preparing a spit, when Hadavad advised him to put it away in favour of eating something that had never required a heartbeat. The dwarf was about to protest when a pair of Centaurs walked by and eyed the spit with disgust.

  The broad-chested Centaur, who had introduced himself as Xastus, and met them on the plains, stepped in front of Reyna and Asher.

  “Princess Reyna,” the Centaur’s voice was deep and rich, “my people are preparing a feast tonight, in honour of the El’shenae’s return to these lands. Your… friends are welcome to partake.”

  There was clearly a lot of distrust and bloody history between the Centaurs and humanity. Reyna decided that would be one of the first matters she attended to when the war was averted and peace finally reigned over Illian and Ayda.

  “Thank you, Xastus. The honour will be ours, I assure you.” Reyna bowed her head and watched with real wonder as the chief Centaur walked away. They were truly magnificent creatures.

  Asher observed, “For all the trouble you’re going to be in with your own people, you make a good princess, Princess…”

  Reyna smiled at the compliment. “I learned from my mother that leading is just another word for serving. My father is more concerned with words such as rule and control, but he sees the world through different eyes.” The latter brought a sadness to her tone.

  “Perhaps he has simply seen too much over his long lifetime. Aging around bloodshed has a way of narrowing one’s view.”

  Reyna smiled briefly. “You speak too eloquently for a simple ranger, you know; it gives away your prior training.”

  Asher matched her smile. “It adds to the mystery.”

  Reyna’s laugh was mirthless as she considered her father. “My father has indeed seen a lot, especially living through the Dark War. I can’t help but feel however, that new eyes are required for a new time. He is living in the past where all the violence and wars should have stayed.”

  “Would you take his place?” Asher inquired.

  Reyna had asked herself that same question many times over the years. “Elven hierarchy is somewhat violent - another addition implemented by my father. If he were to die or abdicate, my mother, Adilandra, would take the throne. If they both abdicated or died, I would no doubt be assassinated and replaced by one of the highborn families. I have long been considered too weak for elven society…”

  “It seems to me you are more elf than any other. Without having lived it, you alone remember the old ways of your people. I have lived around violence my whole life and seen what it has to offer. The road you would choose for your people may be the only one that sees us find some semblance of peace. Or at least learn to tolerate each other…”

  “You mean as I tolerate you?” Reyna jested with the hint of a smile turning up her cheeks. The ranger played along and pretended to be hurt, but the princess placed an affectionate hand on his arm. “Never have I had more hope in my heart than when I met you and Nathaniel. Together we have the chance to make real change… but tonight, we have a feast among new friends, under the stars no less!”

  “I hope you weren’t planning on anything too civilised.” Asher looked to the rangers with a coy smile.

  Inde
ed Asher had been right, as the sun dropped below the horizon and the grass beneath their feet glowed under its ancient enchantment, the group of rangers introduced the Centaurs to alcohol. For the first time in centuries, the Centaurs enjoyed their time with the ‘two-legs’ and shared food and drink alike. Reyna returned to Faylen regularly to check on her condition, though the princess knew she needed sleep more than anything.

  As the moon rose higher and its glow illuminated the fluorescent grass, the Centaurs took up a dance around the pyre to celebrate the elves. Reyna couldn’t help but smile and laugh under the canopy of stars. For just a moment she felt as if she was back in Ayda, celebrating at one of the festivals in The Amara forest. Nathaniel appeared from nowhere and gripped her by both hands, pulling the princess into the dance with the Centaurs. They laughed and danced together as if there was nothing else going on in the world.

  Off to the side of the dance, the barbarian, Bale, was sat opposite a crouching Centaur, as the two contested each other’s strength with an arm wrestle. The barbarian cried to the gods for strength, but the centaur slowly pushed the man’s arm down with casual ease. Doran spat out his ale in laughter and dropped to his behind, which wasn’t so far from the ground to begin with. Asher and Glaide sat with Salim, still in control of their senses and deep in discussion by the looks of it. For Reyna, the whole world was spinning as she danced with Nathaniel. The princess caught glimpses of Hadavad and Atharia closer to the pyre, talking to Xastus with great interest.

  It was some hours before the dancing was broken up by the mad dash of a notorious wart-hog. The animal ran between the Centaurs, squealing with glee and a shining coat of ale over its face and tusks.

  “Hey!” Nathaniel shouted, lifting his leg in time to avoid the hog. “Doran! What do you call it?”

  The dwarf stopped laughing with a confounded expression. “What do a’ call it?”

  Nathaniel laughed. “Yes, the wart-hog’s name…”

  “Bah! I see no wart-hog! This is a war-hog! Bred in Dhenaheim for… well, war!”