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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2022 by R. S. Ford

  Excerpt from Engines of Chaos copyright © 2022 by R. S. Ford

  Excerpt from The Justice of Kings copyright © 2022 by Richard Swan

  Cover design and illustration by Mike Heath/Magnus Creative

  Cover copyright © 2022 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Map by Tim Paul

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Ford, R. S. (Richard S.), author.

  Title: Engines of empire / R.S. Ford.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Orbit, 2022. | Series: The age of uprising ; book 1

  Identifiers: LCCN 2021022688 | ISBN 9780316629560 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780316629553 (ebook)

  Subjects: GSAFD: Fantasy fiction.

  Classification: LCC PR6106.O757 E54 2022 | DDC 823/.92—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021022688

  ISBNs: 9780316629560 (trade paperback), 9780316629584 (ebook)

  E3-20211124-JV-NF-ORI

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map

  Dramatis Personae

  Prologue

  Part One: The Emissary Tyreta

  Fulren

  Rosomon

  Fulren

  Tyreta

  Fulren

  Tyreta

  Rosomon

  Conall

  Tyreta

  Fulren

  Tyreta

  Rosomon

  Tyreta

  Fulren

  Conall

  Fulren

  Tyreta

  Rosomon

  Fulren

  Conall

  Fulren

  Tyreta

  Fulren

  Lancelin

  Tyreta

  Lancelin

  Fulren

  Rosomon

  Conall

  Lancelin

  Tyreta

  Rosomon

  Part Two: Uprising Conall

  Fulren

  Tyreta

  Rosomon

  Conall

  Lancelin

  Rosomon

  Tyreta

  Lancelin

  Rosomon

  Fulren

  Conall

  Rosomon

  Tyreta

  Conall

  Lancelin

  Fulren

  Conall

  Tyreta

  Conall

  Lancelin

  Rosomon

  Fulren

  Tyreta

  Rosomon

  Conall

  Tyreta

  Rosomon

  Epilogue

  Credits

  Discover More

  Extras Meet the Author

  A preview of Engines of Chaos

  A preview of The Justice of Kings

  Also by R. S. Ford

  For Iona

  Explore book giveaways, sneak peeks, deals, and more.

  Tap here to learn more.

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  THE HAWKSPURS

  Athelys Branwell—Rosomon’s handmaid.

  Conall Hawkspur—Son of Rosomon. Captain of the Talon.

  Darina Egelrath—Sister of Melrone. Mother of Sanctan Egelrath.

  Fulren Hawkspur—Son of Rosomon. A skilled artificer.

  Melrone Hawkspur—Husband of Rosomon. (Deceased.)

  Rosomon Hawkspur—Guildmaster. Mother to Conall, Fulren and Tyreta.

  Starn Rivers—Swordwright of the Hawkspur Guild.

  Tyreta Hawkspur—Daughter of Rosomon. A webwainer.

  THE ARCHWINDS

  Arten—One of the Titanguard.

  Cullum Kairns—Imperator of the Titanguard.

  Dagamir—One of the Titanguard.

  Lancelin Jagdor—The Hawkslayer. Swordwright of the Archwind Guild.

  Lorens Archwind—Eldest son of Sullivar and Oriel.

  Mallum Kairns—Imperator Dominus of the Titanguard.

  Olstrum Garner—Sullivar’s consul.

  Oriel Archwind—Wife of Sullivar.

  Sullivar Archwind—Emperor of Torwyn.

  Treon Archwind—Father of Rosomon and Sullivar. (Deceased.)

  Wyllow Archwind—Youngest son of Sullivar and Oriel. A webwainer.

  THE CORWENS

  Rearden Corwen—Guildmaster.

  Wachelm—A junior actuary of the Corwen Guild.

  THE IRONFALLS

  Maugar Ironfall—Swordwright of the Ironfall Guild. Brother of Wymar.

  Wymar Ironfall—Guildmaster. Brother of Maugar.

  THE MARRLOCKS

  Donan Marrlock—A minor member of the Guild.

  Emony Marrlock—Youngest daughter of Oleksig.

  Isleen Marrlock—A minor member of the Guild.

  Oleksig Marrlock—Guildmaster.

  Serrell Marrlock—Lord of New Flaym. Distant cousin of Oleksig.

  THE RADWINTERS

  Becuma—A senior representative of the Radwinter Guild.

  Jarlath Radwinter—Guildmaster.

  Mincloth Radwinter—Wife of Jarlath.

  THE HALLOWHILLS

  Ingelram Hallowhill—Guildmaster.

  Keara Hallowhill—Daughter of Ingelram. A webwainer.

  THE DRACONATE MINISTRY

  Ansell Beckenrike—Knight commander of the Drakes.

  Gylbard—Former Archlegate. (Deceased.)

  Hisolda—High Legate of Vermitrix.

  Sanctan Egelrath—Archlegate.

  Willet Kinloth—A junior legate.

  KARNA UZAN

  Beringer—Frontier marshal of the Phoenix Battalion.

  Nevan Ulworth—A scout serving under Conall in the Talon.

  Stediana Walden—Sted. Conall’s lieutenant in the Talon.

  Westley Tarrien—Captain of the Phoenix Battalion.

  NYRAKKIS

  Ak-Samtek—Grand vizier to Queen Meresankh.

  Amosis Makareth—Head of Meresankh’s cabal of arcanists.

  Assenah Neskhon—Emissary of Queen Meresankh.

  Bekis Katanen—The Overseer. Queen Meresankh’s bodyguard.

  Gaddis Rekhmire—A disgraced centurion of the Medjai.

  Kosma Khonos—An agent of Torwyn.

  Meresankh—Queen of Nyrakkis.

  Nimlot—Lord of House Hamaket.

  Serapion—General of the Medjai.

  Tiaa
Sakhopenra—Witch of the Silent Key.

  Torrianus the Hydra—Infamous bandit leader.

  Wenamun Surero—Disgraced merchant.

  Wenis of Jubara—Arcanist.

  THE HUNTAN REACH

  Henakor the Butcher—A warrior of the Skull Kin.

  Indoneth the Flayer—A warrior of the Skull Kin.

  Saranor the Bleeder—Warchief of the Skull Kin.

  THE SUNDERED ISLES

  Amanisa—A warrior of the Lokai.

  Crenn—An old artificer.

  Edana Larkin—Wife of Lavren.

  Eremand—Chancellor of New Flaym.

  Gelila—A warrior of the Lokai.

  Lavren Larkin—A pyrestone trader.

  Ozoro—A warrior of the Lokai.

  Shabak—War leader of the Chul.

  Suma—A warrior of the Lokai.

  Yeki—Matriarch of the Lokai.

  ORGANISATIONS OF TORWYN

  Armiger Battalions—Military legions that defend Torwyn from foreign threats and protect its interests abroad. The eleven battalions are Auroch, Bloodwolf, Corvus, Griffin, Kraken, Mantid, Phoenix, Raptor, Tigris, Ursus, Viper.

  Draconate Ministry—The ecclesiastic power in Torwyn, led by the Archlegate, which worships the five Great Wyrms:

  Ammenodus Rex—Great Wyrm of War.

  Ravenothrax the Unvanquished—Great Wyrm of Death.

  Saphenodon—Great Wyrm of Knowledge.

  Undometh—Great Wyrm of Vengeance.

  Vermitrix—Great Wyrm of Peace.

  Guilds—The ruling power in Torwyn. The six major Guilds are:

  Archwind Guild—Most powerful Guild in Torwyn, specialising in artifice. Its military arm is known as the Titanguard.

  Corwen Guild—The nation’s administrators. Its military arm is known as the Revocaters.

  Hawkspur Guild—Controls transit. Its military arm is known as the Talon.

  Ironfall Guild—Works the forges. Its military arm is known as the Blackshields.

  Marrlock Guild—Mines for ore and pyrestone.

  Radwinter Guild—Responsible for farming and lumber.

  PROLOGUE

  Courage. That ever-elusive virtue. Willet had once been told a man could never possess true courage without first knowing true fear. If that was so, he must be the bravest man in all Torwyn, as fear gnawed at him like a starving hound, cracking his bones and licking at the marrow.

  He knew this was not courage. More likely it was madness, but then only the mad would have walked so readily into the Drift. It was a thousand miles of wasteland cut through the midst of an entire continent, leaving a scar from the Dolur Peaks in the north to the Ungulf Sea on the southern coast. A scar that would never heal. The remnant of an ancient war, and a stark reminder that sorcery was the unholiest of sins.

  Willet glanced over his shoulder, squinting against the midday sun toward Fort Karvan as it loomed on the distant ridge like a grim sentinel. Had there ever been built a more forbidding bastion of stone and iron?

  Five vast fortresses lined the border between Torwyn and the Drift, each one garrisoned by a different Armiger Battalion, the last line of defence against the raiding tribes and twisted beasts of the wasteland. Fort Karvan was home to the grim and proud Mantid Battalion, and though Willet hated it with every fibre, he would have given anything to be safe within its walls right now. Instead he was traipsing through the blasted landscape, and the only things to protect him were a drab grey robe and his faith in the Great Wyrms. Well, perhaps not the only things.

  “Pick up your feet, Legate Kinloth,” Captain Jarrell hissed from the head of the patrol. “If you fall behind, you’ll be left behind.” The captain scowled from within the open visor of his mantis helm, greying beard reaching over the gorget of his armour.

  Willet quickened his pace, sandals padding along the dusty ground. Captain Jarrell was a man whose bite was most definitely worse than his bark, and Willet wasn’t sure whether he was more afraid of him or of the denizens of the Drift. The only person he’d ever known with sharper teeth was his own mother, though it was a close-run thing.

  By the time he caught up, Willet was short of breath, but he felt some relief as he continued his trek within the sizeable shadow of Jarrell’s lieutenant, Terrick. The big man was the only inhabitant of Fort Karvan who’d ever offered Willet so much as the time of day. He was quick to laugh and generous with his mirth, but not today. Terrick’s eyes were fixed on the trail ahead, his expression stern as he gripped tight to sword and shield, wary of any danger.

  At the head of their patrol, Lethann scouted the way. In contrast to Terrick she was the very definition of mirthless. She wore the tan leather garb of a Talon scout, travelling cloak rendering her almost invisible against the dusty landscape. A splintbow was strapped to her back, a clip of bolts on her hip alongside the long hunting knife. Every now and then she would kneel, searching for sign, following the trail like a hunting dog.

  Three other troopers of the Mantid Battalion marched with them but, to his shame, Willet had no idea what they were called. In fairness, each of their faces was concealed beneath the visor of a mantis helm, but even so they were still part of his brood, and he their stalwart priest. Willet was charged with enforcing their faith in the Great Wyrms, and when would they need that more than now, out here in the deadly wilds? How was he to provide sacrament without even knowing their names? It reminded him once again of the impossibility of the task he’d been given.

  Since his first day at Fort Karvan, Willet had been ignored and disrespected. The Draconate Ministry had sent him to instil faith in the fort’s stout defenders, and Willet had gone about that role with all the zeal his position demanded. It soon became clear no one was going to take him seriously. Over the days and weeks his sermons had been met with indifference at best. At worst outright derision. The disrespect had worsened, rising to a tumult, until the occasion when he had drunk deeply from a waterskin only to find it had been filled with tepid piss when he wasn’t looking.

  Had Willet been posted at another fort in another part of the Drift, perhaps he would have been received with more enthusiasm. The Corvus at Ravenscrag or the Ursus Battalion at Fort Arbelus would have provided him a much warmer welcome. For the Mantid Battalion, it seemed faith in the Guilds of Torwyn far outweighed faith in the Ministry. But what had he truly expected? It was not the Draconate Ministry that fuelled the nation’s commerce. It was not the legates who built artifice and supplied the military with its arms and armour. It was not Willet Kinloth who had brought about the greatest technological advancements in Torwyn’s history.

  His sudden despondency provoked a groundswell of guilt. As Saphenodon decreed, those who suffer the greatest hardship are due the highest reward. And who was Willet Kinloth to question the wisdom of the Draconate?

  “That lookout can’t be much farther ahead,” Terrick grumbled, to himself as much as to anyone else. It was enough to shake Willet from his malaise, forcing him to concentrate on the job at hand.

  They had first spied their quarry four days ago from the battlements of Fort Karvan. The figure had been distant and indistinct, and at first the lookouts had dismissed it as a wanderer, lost in the Drift. When they spotted the lone figure again a second and third day there was only one conclusion—the fort was being watched, which could herald a raid from one of the many marauding bands that dogged the border of Torwyn.

  Raiding parties had been harrying the forts along the Drift for centuries. Mostly they were small warbands grown so hungry and desperate they risked their lives to pillage Torwyn’s abundant fields and forests. But some were vast armies, disparate tribes gathered together by a warlord powerful enough to threaten the might of the Armiger Battalions. No such armies had risen for over a decade, the last having been quelled with merciless violence by a united front of Guild, Armiger and Ministry. But it still paid to be cautious. If this scout was part of a larger force, it was imperative they be captured and questioned.

  The ground sloped
ever downward as they followed the trail, and the grim sight of Fort Karvan was soon lost beyond the ridge behind them. Willet stuck close to Terrick, but the hulking trooper provided less and less reassurance the deeper they ventured into the Drift.

  Willet’s hand toyed with the medallions about his neck, the five charms bringing him little comfort. The sapphire of Vermitrix imparted no peace, the jade of Saphenodon no keen insight. The jet pendant of Ravenothrax did not grant him solace in the face of imminent death, and neither did the solid steel of Ammenodus Rex give him the strength to face this battle. His hand finally caressed the red ruby pendant of Undometh. The Great Wyrm of Vengeance. That was the most useless of all—for who would avenge Willet if he was slain out here? Would Undometh himself come to take vengeance on behalf of a lowly legate? Not likely.

  Lethann waved from up ahead. Her hand flashed in a sequence of swift signals before she gestured ahead into a steep valley. Willet had no idea how to decipher the silent message, but the rest of the patrol adopted a tight formation, Captain Jarrell leading his men with an added sense of urgency.

  Their route funnelled into a narrow path, bare red rock rising on both sides as they descended into a shallow valley. Here lay the remnants of a civilisation that had died a thousand years before. Relics from the age of the Archmages, before their war and their magics had blasted the continent apart.

  Willet stared at the broken and derelict buildings scattered about the valley floor. Alien architecture clawed its way from the earth, the tops of ancient spires lying alongside the weathered corpses of vast statues. He trod carefully in his sandals, as here and there lay broken and rusted weapons, evidence of the battle fought here centuries before. Cadaverous remnants of plate and mail lay half-reclaimed in the dirt, the remains of their wearers long since rotted to dust.