Faylen raised a hand to silence anymore protests. “Time is not our ally. We must reach Karath, resupply and journey to Nightfall before Paldora’s star graces daylight sky.”
Nathaniel recognised the quote from the Echoes of Fate, as well as the comet’s connection with ominous calamity. Despite aspects of the prophesy proving true, the knight couldn’t believe that a phenomenon that had only ever been witnessed at night could be reversed.
Xastus towered over the group. “I would find another route to your journey’s end. Smoke rises from the southern cities; war has claimed those lands…”
“Our time in the desert must be as short as possible,” Asher explained. “Travelling from Karath is our only chance. If we forego civilisation and take the eastern road to Nightfall, we will be exposed to the harsher elements of The Arid Lands.”
“We will go to Karath,” Faylen continued. “I will have us there in but a few steps.” The elf moved in front of the rangers and removed a crystal from her belt.
Hadavad and Atharia broke free of the group and approached Faylen. The old mage rested a hand on her shoulder.
“You have our strength this time,” Hadavad offered.
“And mine.” Reyna hurried over and placed a hand on Faylen’s free shoulder.
Faylen flashed a curt smile and nodded her head, a hint of resignation on her face. Nathaniel guessed the elf wasn’t entirely back to health.
Reyna turned to the Centaurs. “Thank you for your hospitality, Xastus. The generosity of your people will not be forgotten by the El’shenae… or the humans.”
Xastus bowed his head. “Until our paths cross again, Princess…”
Faylen threw the crystal and opened another portal, large enough to fit the riders and their mounts. Nathaniel covered his eyes when the portal sparked to life, but he took note of the large, red gem that slipped out of Hadavad’s tunic. The gem glowed a brilliant ruby red as he offered Faylen his magical strength.
“Ride!” Asher shouted, encouraging the rangers to make for the portal before the magic was drained.
Tauren awoke with a start and sharp pains in his ribs. Having succumbed to his injuries and fatigue, he had fallen asleep sometime around dawn. The son-of-none was sitting, curled up, on top of a roof in the heart of Karath. His leather armour and black cloak were covered in splatters of blood, and he knew there wasn’t enough of it that belonged to the Arakesh. The owl mask lay at his side, broken and bent out of shape after taking a beating from Nakir. A jagged line cut through the mask from above the left eye, down to the right cheek. Tentatively, he touched his face and felt the identical cut that would forever scar his features. Tauren couldn’t bring himself to look at the mask, for the shame threatened to consume him.
The White Owl cautiously shifted his position and felt everything ache. Taking a punch from an elf was not something he could ever have prepared for. Tauren groaned, as if he were an old man rising from his chair, and stood up to take in the city. Karath should be weeping for its loss. The House of Owls had fallen in a single night. The few who stood for freedom and a better way of living had been cut down in the night like animals.
And yet the city went on…
Tauren looked around at the streets below with confusion and heartbreak marring his face. The markets were in full swing with fresh produce and goods being sold as if it were any other day. Further down the street he could hear slaves being sold openly for the first time in months. Karathans walked the streets with their slaves in tow, fearing no reprisals from the owls.
He had been tricked by the elves, by Argo. Tauren felt his rage rising to the surface at the thought of the treacherous assassin. He took a moment to think of all the things he would do to the Arakesh if he ever saw him again. Those bloody images only led him to think about Halion. What tortures was he being exposed to today, if he was even still alive? There was a very good chance the elves had killed his brother by now.
He had to find out, and if he could, rescue him…
The blood on his hands caught his attention and shifted his focus. The blood belonged to Braigo. His brother from the streets had been stabbed by Argo only feet away from the White Owl, and yet he had been powerless to stop him. Tauren had failed in so many ways.
Looking out over the rooftops, Tauren focused on the buildings to the south. Before he did anything else, his only course of action should be to see who survived last night’s massacre.
To see if Braigo yet lived…
The White Owl stopped, before leaping the gap between the buildings, and looked back at the mask on the floor. He sighed through the pain and bent low to pick it up. The empty eyes of the mask that had become his identity looked back him. There was nothing in it anymore. The mask no longer filled with him confidence and strength, but only served to remind him of his blind arrogance and worthless rage. As the White Owl he had achieved nothing the elves couldn’t undo by the next new moon. Tauren could hear Salim’s calming words of patience and he didn’t have the strength to shut them out.
Tauren released the mask and turned away, not even bothering to watch it tumble across the rooftop. He was done with it. Instead, he used the breathing techniques Salim had taught him and launched himself across the gap, between the buildings. The pain in his ribs and the ache in his muscles were almost overpowering, but he pushed on, never slowing or giving himself a moment to rest.
The midday sun had passed by the time he found the rooftop he was looking for. At the top of the three storey building, canvases stretched between poles to provide shelter from the sun. Dozens of owls sat around in the shade, nursing each other’s wounds. Tauren felt only shame when he leapt the final gap and landed amongst those he had failed. To his surprise, the men and women he had come to consider family embraced him and thanked the gods that he was still alive. He felt many hands clasp his shoulders and grip his armour in affection. He didn’t deserve it. That feeling was compounded when the group dispersed and Tauren saw Braigo for the first time.
“You’re late…” Braigo rasped.
Tauren hurried to his brother’s side and dropped to one knee, so that he might better take the measure of his wounds. He was sickly in colour and clammy to the touch. His pale skin was cold but sticky with sweat and Tauren could smell the blood. Pulling back the blanket, the son-of-none could see the mortal wound that spelled Braigo’s fate. A sword through the belly was a slow death, painful too. It wasn’t befitting of a man who had given his best years to fighting for others.
“I had to be sure I wasn’t followed,” Tauren explained.
He couldn’t look Braigo in the eyes for any length of time without finding his own filling with tears. This wasn’t how it should have ended. Right now they were supposed to be announcing to the city that the old ways had come to an end. There would be freedom for all and a new, fair, hierarchy would take over The Arid Lands.
“Pesky assassins...” Braigo attempted to laugh but his face contorted into agony.
“Save your strength,” Tauren pleaded.
“I sent some of the others to check on Mother Madakii and the children,” Braigo sputtered.
Tauren felt more shame overwhelm him. He hadn’t thought to check on the woman who saved him from the streets and put a roof over his head. Again, more proof that he wasn’t fit to lead the House of Owls. Being trained how to fight by an honour guard wasn’t enough to qualify him for the role.
“What became... of Halion?” Braigo asked.
Tauren dabbed the sweat on his brother’s forehead. “He was discovered by the elves.” Tauren couldn’t help the venom in his tone. “The assassins tortured him for information.”
“Animals…” Braigo scrunched his eyes and strained his neck in pain.
Tauren looked around and did a quick head-count. There were so few left. How many lives had been lost because of his plan? It would take time to calculate that number and learn who had never made it to the rendezvous.
“There are more inside,” Braigo explained,
following Tauren’s gaze. “And more should be arriving from Tregaran later…” The sentence went unfinished as his pain intensified.
“Rest,” Tauren ordered.
“What will you do now?” Braigo finally managed.
“I must find a way to free Halion, if he still lives.” Tauren looked back out at the city and saw the palace that dominated the cityscape.
“No…” Braigo replied. “Halion has given his life to this cause, as so many others have. The Darkakin are still coming. Syla’s Gate must not be opened.” Braigo’s expression of horror focused Tauren. “If the House of Owls does nothing, this city... will fall,” he continued, fighting through his pain. “After Karath is theirs, The Arid Lands will fall next, and from there Illian will be…” Again, the pain was too much.
Tauren looked at his dying brother and saw everything he should have been. Braigo saw past the horrors that lay in store for Karath and looked to help the entire realm. How could Tauren continue without him? Without Halion?
Braigo used what little strength he had and gripped Tauren’s leather armour. “You must hold the gate, brother.” His bloodshot eyes filled with tears. “Take whoever is willing and hold that gate…”
Braigo’s eyes appeared to look through Tauren, who could only wait for a breath that never came. The son-of-none shook his oldest friend and called his name with a fool’s hope. Only Braigo’s glazed expression remained. Tauren fell into his brother’s chest and wept for his loss. When his despair gave into denial he thumped Braigo’s chest with anger, commanding him to wake up. Through his pleas, the other owls crowded around him and laid their hands on Tauren’s shoulders. They offered their strength and shared the grief, relieving Tauren of his anger.
“You were the best of us.” Tauren gently closed Braigo’s eyes and let his hand fall onto his brother’s chest.
The White Owl lost track of time, sitting on the edge of the rooftop, watching the world go by beneath his dangling feet. The others had taken Braigo’s body inside and called for Mother Madakii. If she was inside with him now, Tauren didn’t know. He looked up and stared out at the Undying Mountains to the south. Syla’s Gate was only the size of his thumb from here.
The sun was kissing the horizon when Tauren felt a hand on his shoulder. Mother Madakii looked down at him with red-rimmed eyes and an expression of deep sorrow. She wept for every one of them, not just Braigo. The Mother stepped aside to reveal the crowded roof. He had been so lost in thought that he had shut himself off from his surroundings and missed their arrival.
“There are more downstairs,” Mother Madakii explained. Bowing her head, she whispered, “They have come to hear you.”
Tauren slowly stood up and glanced at the sea of faces before him. He knew them all. At some point or another they had all sparred with him and received one-on-one training. There were so many faces he couldn’t see and the thought nearly crippled him.
“I…” He didn’t know what to say.
For the first time since had started this crusade, Tauren had no words of encouragement. The flame that ignited his rage was gone. That rage had driven him ever onwards for as long as he could remember, guiding him and keeping him strong. Now it had brought only grief. Braigo’s last words had echoed in his mind for hours, accompanied with the image of his last breath.
“Our brothers and sisters have been taken from us,” Tauren began. “I have failed you all.” He held up a hand to cut short their protests. “An ancient evil has taken a hold of this city… but something worse is coming.” Tauren glanced at Syla’s Gate. “Any day now, an army of Darkakin will march on those gates and sweep through this city like a plague. Slavery will become a way of life for everyone, not just those of us in the south, but everywhere. The northern kingdoms don’t even know they’re coming. The line must be drawn here.”
Tauren looked at Mother Madakii and felt his heart break knowing what his proposal would do to her. She had already lost so many of them over the years and now he was going to march to a certain death, maybe taking the rest of the owls with him. She would have to mourn them all before the end.
Mother Madakii lightly gripped his forearm. “You don’t have to fight…”
Her alternative would be to run and hide. Illian was a big place after all. The Mother didn’t care about honour, or doing the right thing; she just wanted them to live.
“I’ve been fighting to survive since I was born,” Tauren replied lightly, taking her hand in his own. “Now I’m fighting for everyone else.” The White Owl tuned back to the crowd. “I am going to those gates. I will hold them for as long as I can. I won’t ask any of you to join me.”
As one, the entire crowd stepped forward and the sound of feet rhythmically stamping on floorboards resounded from the floor below. Their courage and loyalty brought tears to his eyes, but he held onto them.
“We are with you.” It was Kali who spoke on everyone’s behalf.
The dark haired warrior was a capable fighter and had proven herself a leader time and time again. Braigo had always spoken highly of her. Tauren knew he could rely on her as he had his brother.
The White Owl nodded his approval and appreciation. “Kali, find our best runners and have them get word across the city to any who will listen. Karath must be ready to flee should we fail to hold the gate. We leave at high moon.”
“Tauren! Tauren!” The call came from the adjacent roof, where two owls could be seen running towards them.
The crowd made space for the runners to leap onto their roof. They were exhausted and desperate for breath, but their look of dread and despair had Tauren searching the cityscape for assassins.
“Brothers…” The White Owl crouched by their side.
“The palace!” the first exclaimed.
“Halion…” the other whispered.
Tauren’s eyes filled with tears when he understood the expressions on their faces. Without a word he jumped between the buildings and ran for the heart of Karath. His feet pounded relentlessly against the dusty rooftops, drowning out the sound of the city below. The son-of-none didn’t stop until he found himself panting for breath opposite the palace slave markets.
He dropped to his knees at the sight.
There were other owls behind him, but he hadn’t noticed them following him. They were all just as stunned by the sight of Halion, hanging from one of the lower balconies with his hand and feet bound. His body was just as beaten and broken as Tauren remembered, with streaks of blood dripping to his toes.
Tauren didn’t have enough energy to feel rage. He had lost Braigo and so many owls… now Halion was gone. So many thoughts rushed through his head, but the numbness that overtook him could not be penetrated. The gravity of what had happened, of the loss, was slow to sink in. Tauren’s stomach flipped when he thought of Salim, Halion’s father. Exiled from these lands, Salim would never know of his son’s fate, and yet Tauren felt a responsibility to tell him. But he hadn’t seen his old mentor for years and wouldn’t even know where to start searching for him.
Look…” Kali gazed down at the base of the palace.
Tauren followed her sight and found a group of Karathan soldiers huddled within the grounds, staring up at Halion’s lifeless body. Looking around, the son-of-none discovered more soldiers outside the grounds, forsaking their duties and simply staring at Halion.
“Kali,” Tauren called without taking his eyes off Halion. “Have word find its way into their ranks.” A single tear reached his lips, leaving a salty taste in his mouth. “Let the soldiers know that Syla’s Gate has been manned once again.”
“Is that wise, Tauren?”
“Halion spent years convincing his men of our cause. We will see the strength of their mettle.” The son-of-none knew he should get up and make straight for Syla’s Gate, but he couldn’t tear himself away. He would have to keep looking at Halion until he believed it was real...
Nathaniel stood at the top of the rise, with his hands resting on his sword belt, as he looked o
ut on The Arid Lands. Karath, the capital in the south, sat on the horizon, its high walls too small to hide the rising smoke in the moonlight. War had certainly plagued the city, though Nathaniel found the war to be a worthy one. Slaves fighting for the right to live under the Illian sky as free people was a battle he would have gladly joined, had he still been a fully fledged Graycoat.
It seemed life outside of that vocation was just as dangerous, if not more so. The knight gripped his sword tight at the thought of entering Nightfall’s dark halls, not to mention the pit.
“First time in the desert?” Asher came from nowhere, as he always did.
Nathaniel tried not to show his alarm. “I’ve had the misfortune of visiting The Arid Lands several times, actually. There are monsters a plenty in these parts.”
The ranger sighed and inspected the walls of Karath. “It’s the monsters inside the city that bother me.”
“So shouldn’t we be finding a way in now, then? While it’s dark.”
The lightest of smiles pulled at Asher’s lips. “You’re still thinking like a knight. You’re not wearing that coat anymore. If we approach Karath’s gate at night, we’ll have arrows raining down on our heads before we state our business. We wait until day; everyone is less suspicious under a blue sky. Besides, Faylen will need the night to recover.”
Nathaniel trusted the ranger’s expertise in the matter. As a student of Nightfall, Asher had come to understand the way people think and especially their perceptions, since these were the very things he had to manipulate. In some ways, the knight felt sorry for the older man, having lived so long with such an outlook.
“How is she faring?” Nathaniel asked.
“The spell was less taxing, thanks to Hadavad and the others, but she still needs to rest. Surviving on the otherside of those walls isn’t easy…”
“You were an assassin of Nightfall; can’t you just sneak in?” Nathaniel asked with a jesting tone.
“Oh I could sneak in, sure,” Asher replied, playing along. “But sneaking nine more people in is beyond my skill. I kill monsters these days, I’m not a magician.”
Empire of Dirt: (Echoes of Fate: Book 2) Page 25