by Morgan Rice
“So this is what I will do,” he continued. “You will publicly confess your crimes against our nation, and you shall exhort all citizens of Andros to concede to Pandesian rule. If you do this, then I shall see that Pandesia sets you free.”
Duncan sat there, so furious he didn’t know what to say.
“Are you a puppet for the Pandesians now?” Duncan finally asked, seething. “Are you trying to impress them? To show them that you can deliver me?”
Bant sneered.
“Do it, Duncan,” he replied. “You are no good to anyone down here, least of all yourself. Tell the Supreme Ra what he wants to hear, confess what you’ve done, and make peace for this city. Our capital needs peace now, and you are the only who can make it.”
Duncan took several deep breaths, until he finally summoned the strength to speak.
“Never,” he replied.
Bant glowered.
“Not for my freedom,” Duncan continued, “not for my life, and not for any price.”
Duncan stared at him, smiling in satisfaction as he watched Bant redden, then finally he added: “But be sure of one thing: if I ever escape from here, my sword will find a spot in your heart.”
After a long, stunned silence, Bant stood, scowling, stared down at Duncan, and shook his head.
“Live a few more days for me,” he said, “so that I can be here to watch your execution.”
CHAPTER NINE
Dierdre rowed with all her might, Marco beside her, the two of them swiftly cutting through the canal, making their way back toward the sea, where she had last seen her father. Her heart was torn apart with anxiety as she recalled the last time she had seen her father, recalled his bravely attacking the Pandesian army, even against insurmountable odds. She closed her eyes and shook away the image, rowing even faster, praying he was not dead yet. All she wanted was to make it back in time to save him—or if not, then to at least have a chance to die by his side.
Beside her, Marco rowed just as quickly, and she looked over at him with gratitude and wonder.
“Why?” she asked.
He turned and looked at her.
“Why did you join me?” she pressed.
He looked at her, silent, then looked away.
“You could have gone with the others back there,” she added. “But you chose not to. You chose to come with me.”
He looked straight ahead, still rowing hard, still remaining silent.
“Why?” she insisted, desperate to know, rowing furiously.
“Because my friend admired you very much,” Marco said. “And that is enough for me.”
Dierdre rowed harder, turning through the twisting canal, and her thoughts turned to Alec. She was so disappointed in him. He had abandoned them all, had departed Ur with that mysterious stranger before the invasion. Why? She could only wonder. He had been so devoted to the cause, the forge, and she was sure he’d be the last person to flee in a time of need. Yet he had, when they needed him most.
It made Dierdre reexamine her feelings for Alec, whom, after all, she barely knew—and it made her have stronger feelings for his friend Marco, who had sacrificed for her. Already she felt a strong bond with him. As cannonballs continued to whistle overhead, as buildings continued to explode and topple all around them, Dierdre wondered if Marco really knew what he was getting into. Did he know that by joining her, by returning into the heart of chaos, there would be no return?
“We row toward death, you know,” she said. “My father and his men are on that beach, beyond that wall of rubble, and I intend to find him and fight by his side.”
Marco nodded.
“Do you think I returned to this city to live?” he asked. “If I wanted to flee, I had my chance.”
Satisfied, and touched by his strength, Dierdre rowed on, the two of them continuing silently, avoiding falling debris as they turned ever closer toward the shore.
Finally, they turned a corner, and in the distance she spotted the wall of rubble where she had last seen her father—and just beyond it, the tall black ships. She knew that on the other side lay the beach where he was battling the Pandesians, and she rowed with all she had, sweat pouring down her face, anxious to reach him in time. She heard the sounds of fighting, of men groaning out, dying, and she prayed it was not too late.
Barely had their boat reached the edge of the canal when she jumped out, rocking it, Marco behind her, and sprinted for the wall. She scrambled over the massive boulders, scraping her elbows and knees and not caring. Out of breath, she climbed and climbed, slipping on rocks, thinking only of her father, of having to reach the other side, hardly comprehending that these mounds of rubble were once the great towers of Ur.
She glanced over her shoulder as she heard the shouts, and, afforded a sweeping view of Ur from up here, she was shocked to see half the city in ruins. Buildings were toppled, mountains of rubble in the streets, covered by clouds of dust. She saw the people of Ur fleeing for their lives in every direction.
She turned back around and continued climbing, going the opposite direction of the people, wanting to embrace the battle—not run from it. She finally reached the top of the rock wall, and as she looked out, her heart stopped. She stood there, frozen in place, unable to move. This was not what she had expected at all.
Dierdre had expected to see a great battle being waged below, to see her father fighting valiantly, his men all around him. She expected to be able to rush down there and join him, to save him, to fight at his side.
Instead, what she saw made her want to curl up and die.
There lay her father, face-first in the sand, covered in a pool of blood, a hatchet in his back.
Dead.
All around him lay his dozens of soldiers, all dead, too. Thousands of Pandesian soldiers clamored off the ships like ants, spreading out, covering the beach, stabbing each body to make sure it was dead. They stepped on her father’s body and the others as they made their way for the wall of rubble, and right for her.
Dierdre looked down as she heard a noise and saw some Pandesians had already reached it, were already climbing up, hardly thirty feet away, right for her.
Dierdre, filled with despair, anguish, rage, stepped forward and hurled her spear down at the first Pandesian she saw climbing up. He looked up, clearly not expecting to see anyone atop the wall, not expecting anyone to be crazy enough to face off against an invading army. Dierdre’s spear impaled his chest, sending him sliding back down the rock and taking out several soldiers with him.
The other soldiers rallied, and a dozen of them raised their spears and threw them back up at her. It happened too quickly and Dierdre stood there defenseless, wanting to be impaled, ready to die. Wanting to die. She had been too late—her father was dead below, and now she, overwhelmed by guilt, wanted to die with him.
“Dierdre!” cried a voice.
Dierdre heard Marco beside her, and a moment later she felt him grabbing her, yanking her back down to the other side of the rubble. Spears whizzed by her head, right where she had been standing, missing her by inches, and she tumbled backwards, back down the pile of rubble, with Marco.
She felt terrible pain as the two of them tumbled head over heels, the rocks smashing her ribs, all over her body, bruising and scratching her all over the place, until finally they hit the bottom.
Dierdre lay there for a moment, struggling to breathe, feeling the wind knocked out of her, wondering if she were dead. She realized dimly that Marco had just saved her life.
Marco, quickly recovering, grabbed her and yanked her back to her feet. They ran together, stumbling, her body aching, away from the wall and back into the streets of Ur.
Dierdre glanced back over her shoulder and saw Pandesians already reaching the top. She watched as they raised bows and began to fire arrows, raining down death on the city.
All around Dierdre cries rang out as people began to fall, pierced in the back by arrows and spears as the sky turned black. Dierdre saw an arrow descending rig
ht for Marco and she reached out and yanked him, pulling him out of the way, behind a wall of rock. There came the sound of arrowheads hitting the stone behind them, and Marco turned and looked at her gratefully.
“We’re even,” she said.
There followed a shout, then a great clanging of armor, and she looked out to see dozens more Pandesians reach the top, all of them charging down the rock. Some were faster than others, and several of them, leading the pack, raced right for Dierdre.
Dierdre and Marco exchanged a knowing look, and nodded. Neither was prepared to run.
Marco stepped out from behind the rock as they neared, raised his spear, and aimed for the lead soldier. The spear lodged in his chest, dropping him.
Marco then spun around and slashed another’s throat with his sword; he kicked a third soldier as he neared, then raised his sword high and brought it down on the fourth.
Dierdre, inspired, grabbed a flail from the ground and turned and swung with all her might. The spiked metal ball smashed an approaching soldier in the helmet, knocking him down, and she swung again and smashed another in the back before he could stab Marco.
The six soldiers dead, Marco and Dierdre exchanged a look, realizing how lucky they were. Yet all around them, the other citizens of Ur were not so lucky. More cannon fire whizzed overhead, and there followed explosion after explosion as more buildings were destroyed. At the same time, hundreds more soldiers appeared over the ridge, and as they began to pour through the city, citizens were stabbed and hacked in every direction.
Soon the streets, filled with bodies, ran with blood.
Dozens more soldiers charged for them, and Dierdre knew that she and Marco could not defend against them all. Just feet away, Dierdre braced herself as Pandesians, in their blue and yellow armor, raised swords and hatchets and bore down on them. She knew her life was about to end.
Just then, a cannonball smashed into a wall, and it toppled and blocked off the soldiers’ approach, ironically crushing a few of them and creating a wall of defense. Dierdre breathed deep, realizing they had one last chance for survival.
“This way!” Marco shouted.
He grabbed her wrist and dragged her and they began to run through the city, weaving their way amidst the destruction. She knew that Marco knew the city better than anyone, and if they had any chance of survival, he would find it.
They twisted and turned down one street after the other, through clouds of dust, jumping over rubble, past dead bodies, avoiding bands of roving soldiers. Finally, Marco tugged her to a stop.
At first Dierdre was puzzled, seeing nothing; but then Marco bent down, wiped away some dust, and revealed in iron hatch hidden in the stone. He yanked it up, and Dierdre was amazed to see a hole leading underground.
Dierdre heard a noise and turned to see two Pandesians emerge from a cloud of dust, charging, axes raised high. Before she even had time to ponder it, Marco grabbed her and yanked her down—and she shrieked as she went falling belowground, hurling somewhere into the blackness.
CHAPTER TEN
Kyra opened her eyes as she felt a tremendous warmth radiate throughout her body, feeling like the heat of the sun were spreading through her. Her eyes were heavy, and as she was met by a world of white light, it took her a moment to realize where she was. She raised her hand to the morning sun, breaking through the trees, a new dawn spreading over the wood, and she had never experienced such a feeling of peace.
As Kyra felt the heat coursing through her, she looked down at her stomach and was amazed to see her wound was mostly healed. She ran a finger over it, stunned: her skin was almost smooth.
Kyra looked up as she sensed motion, and she saw a face. She was thrilled to see those intense, shining eyes looking down at her, fixed on hers.
Kyle.
He knelt over her, holding her hand, and as she looked into his eyes, she felt as if they held the power of the sun. She felt waves of heat coursing through his palm, into hers, making her more and more sleepy. Her eyes were so heavy, not fully open, as though she couldn’t quite cast off her heavy slumber.
She smiled, reassured by his presence, feeling such a wave of love and gratitude toward him.
“You’re still here,” she said, her voice soft, in a dreamlike state.
“Shh,” he said, looking down, running a soft hand through her hair. “You must sleep. The wound was deep. But it is healing now. My time here is done.”
She looked up, feeling a sudden rush of concern.
“Are you leaving me?” she asked, panicked, feeling so alone in the world.
He smiled down at her.
“My tower is in danger,” he replied. “My people need me now.”
There was so much Kyra wanted to ask him, but she couldn’t find the words. Her mind was still in a haze, and her exhaustion deepened with every moment.
“Stay,” she whispered.
But exhaustion overcame her, and as Kyle placed a palm on her eyes, a tremendous heat forced them closed.
Kyra felt herself getting lighter, shifting into white light, drifting back to sleep. The last thing she remembered, before her eyes closed completely, was Kyle removing his necklace, a startling star-shaped sapphire, and draping it over her neck. She felt its cool healing power on her collarbone.
“What’s mine is yours now,” he said. “Sleep. And remember me.”
*
Kyra sat bolt upright. She opened her eyes to see the sun high overhead, and she blinked in the brightness, looking everywhere for Kyle.
As she feared, he was gone.
Kyra jumped to her feet, feeling a rush of energy, amazed to be standing. She felt stronger than ever. She looked down at her stomach, where her wound had been, and was amazed to see it was entirely healed. It was as if nothing had ever happened.
Kyra stood there, feeling reborn, and as she heard a whining she turned to see Leo by her side, licking her palm. She heard a grunt, and she turned to see Andor, in the near distance, pawing the ground. She was still in a forest clearing, light flooding through the trees, wind rustling the leaves, the sounds of birds and insects filling the air. She felt as if she were seeing the world with new eyes. She took a deep breath, loving what it felt like to be alive again.
There came a rustling, and Kyra turned and was startled to see Alva standing a few feet away, expressionless, holding his staff and watching her silently. She felt a deep sense of relief at the sight of him, yet also guilt. He had warned her not to go, and she had not heeded him. Here she was, the failed student, she felt, facing her teacher. She burned with questions for him.
“How long have you been here?” she asked, sensing he had watched over her during her sleep.
He did not respond.
“Have you been watching me all this time?” she asked.
“I am always watching you.”
Kyra tried to remember.
“Was it Kyle who healed me?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I was meant to die, wasn’t I?” she asked. “He sacrificed himself for me, didn’t he?”
“Indeed,” he replied. “And he will pay the price.”
Kyra felt a sudden rush of concern.
“What price?”
“There is a price to everything in this universe, Kyra. Destiny cannot be changed without the greatest price of all.”
She felt a stab of fear.
“I do not wish for him to pay a price for my life,” she replied.
Alva sighed, looking sad, disappointed.
“I warned you,” he replied. “Your haste, your action, has harmed others. Courage is selfless, and yet sometimes it can be selfish, too.”
Kyra thought about that.
“You did not heed my words,” Alva continued. “You abandoned your training. You thought of no one but your father. If it weren’t for Kyle, and for….”
Alva trailed off and looked away, and Kyra suddenly knew.
“My mother,” she said, her eyes lighting. “That’s what you were
about to say, wasn’t it?”
He looked away.
“I saw her in my dream,” she pressed, and rushed toward Alva and grabbed his arm, desperate to know more. “I saw her face. She was healing me. She helped change my destiny.”
Kyra prayed that Alva would answer her. She was overcome with a primal need to know more about her mother, a need as strong as food or drink
“Please,” she added. “I have to know.”
“Yes,” he finally replied, to her immense relief, “she did.”
“You must tell me,” she said. “Tell me everything about her.”
Alva stared back for a long time, his eyes twinkling, clearly holding some great knowledge. He looked as if he were pondering whether to tell her.
“Please,” Kyra implored. “I nearly died. I have earned the right to know. I cannot go down to my death without knowing. Who is she?”
Finally, Alva sighed. He took a few steps away, casting off her hand, and with his back to her, stared off into the trees, as if peering into different worlds.
“Your mother was one of the Ancients,” he finally began, his voice deep, rumbling. “One of the first people to inhabit Escalon. They are those who are said to have been born before anyone else, beings who are said to have lived for thousands of years, who were never meant to die. They were stronger than us, stronger than the trolls—stronger even than the dragons. They were the first people. The original people.”
Kyra listened, mesmerized.
“Because of their power, their strength,” Alva continued, “Escalon was never invaded. They were the ones that fended them off, that created the Flames, that built the towers, that forged the Sword of Fire. Because of them, the dragons were kept at bay. Their power protected us all.”
Alva turned and looked at her meaningfully, as Kyra stood there, riveted.
“A power that runs through you, Kyra,” he said.
She felt a chill at his words.
“Where is she, then?” Kyra asked, her voice nearly a whisper. “Does she still live?”
Alva looked away and sighed. He fell silent for a long time.
