by Morgan Rice
The baby felt himself coursing with a new source of energy. It was a magical, mystical energy, directed by the girl, he knew, even from hundreds of miles away. It flooded his veins, gave him strength, power, reason to go on. And it healed him.
The baby sat up, reached out, and was amazed to discover that now he could extend his wings. He was even more amazed as he found himself able to flap them, to rise to his feet. He leaned back and was shocked to learn that he could even breathe fire, burning a tree before him.
The baby blinked several times, alert, alive, ready to take on the world. And as his first course of action, he ran forward, flapped his wings and leapt into the air.
Moments later he was flying, flapping, shrieking, rising higher and higher, ascending over Escalon. He flew with great speed, intent, and purpose. After all, there was a girl who needed him.
And together they would change the course of destiny.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Aidan stood with Cassandra at the dungeon gate and braced himself as Pandesian soldiers closed in on them from both sides. With no possible exit, it seemed death had finally found him in his quest to free his father. Aidan prepared himself as they closed in, studying the imposing soldiers in their blue and yellow armor, and wondered which one of them would kill him first. He drew his short sword, wanting to be brave, as his father would, though he held it with trembling hands and knew it would do him no good.
“Well, it was nice knowing you,” Cassandra said beside him, facing off against the soldiers, too, holding out her dagger, standing there bravely. Aidan was in awe at her composure; she showed less fear than he. She had lived a hard life on the streets, and it showed.
“I wished I could have gotten to know you,” she added. “You’re halfway interesting.”
“Halfway?” Aidan asked.
Before she could answer, there came a noise which confused Aidan and made him turn. It was a shout—and not of Pandesians. It was a shout he recognized, a shout he had heard his entire life. A shout of his father’s men.
All the Pandesian soldiers turned, too, and Aidan’s heart leapt to see hundreds of his father’s warriors, a manic look on their faces, bloodied, dirty, clearly having just escaped from prison, and charging right for the dungeon. They held pilfered weapons, ran with a fierce battle cry, and Aidan’s heart warmed as he realized they had come for his father. They had not forgotten him.
“Let’s go, boy!” yelled a voice.
Aidan turned as he felt someone yanking his arm, and he was pleasantly surprised to see Motley standing there, White at his side, pulling him away. A moment later he was off, running with Motley and Cassandra and White, all of them skirting past the Pandesian soldiers, now distracted by the large force of soldiers descending on them. Motley, with his perfect timing, as always, knew how to take advantage of distraction, and managed to lead them all away in the split-second moment of opportunity that they were afforded.
“What about the play?!” Aidan called out, breathless, as they ran through the iron gate and into the dungeons.
Motley heaved, clearly not in shape for this.
“I don’t think they were enjoying it much anyway,” he replied, heaving.
They all ran into the dungeon, twisting and turning their way down narrow, stone corridors, past rows of flaming torches, through open iron gates.
“Which way?” Aidan asked, looking to Motley.
Motley was barely able to catch his breath.
“You’re asking me?!” he said, sprinting. “I thought I was following you!”
Suddenly, White stopped and turned, snarling. Aidan turned and was shocked to see a Pandesian soldier had broken off from the pack and had turned back for them. He sprinted after them, bearing down on them quickly.
“Stop right there!” he called out.
The soldier raised a spear, and Aidan braced himself as he knew in but a moment he would feel a spear through his back.
White snarled and leapt at the charging soldier. Aidan could not believe how fast the muscular dog closed the gap. He reached him right before he could release the spear, slamming all fours paws into his chest. He knocked him back and sank his razor-sharp fangs into the soldier’s throat, killing him instantly.
White bounded off back to Aidan’s side, and Aidan felt a surge of love for his dog, knowing he would be by his side forever.
The four of them continued on, running down corridors, then ducking through an arched stone passageway. They headed through another open gate, and then finally reached a crossroads, corridors leading in three different directions.
They all stopped, gasping for breath.
“Which way now?” Cassandra asked.
They all looked to Aidan and he shrugged. He knew the wrong choice would lose them the precious moments they needed and surely lead to their failure and deaths; yet he had no idea where in this vast prison complex his father could be. To his left he saw stairs going down; to his right, stairs going up.
Aidan stood there, frozen with indecision, his heart pounding. Then, finally, he decided to take a chance, praying it was the right one.
“This way,” he yelled.
Aidan turned and ran to his left, down the stone stairs.
It was dark in here, and he nearly slipped on the slick surface, barely keeping his balance, taking them three at a time. The others were right behind him.
It got darker as they descended, torches lit on the walls sporadically, about every twenty feet. The stairs eventually let off at a lower level, and as Aidan hit the ground running, he found himself in a dark corridor, pathways veering left and right. He turned left, breathing hard, praying it was the right choice once again. It was too late to turn back now.
They turned down a new corridor and finally, as they turned again, they came to its end, a massive arched opening with thick iron bars. Aidan sensed this section of the dungeon, with its extra thick walls and bars, was designed to hold someone special.
Aidan charged for it. He found this gate unguarded, too, its door unlocked, and he realized all the soldiers must have been summoned up above to fight off his father’s men, leaving the post vacant. He burst through and sprinted down another dark corridor until he arrived at an even darker one. He turned a corner, expecting to see his father—and was startled to find a Pandesian soldier walking right into him.
Aidan bumped into the barrel-chested soldier face first and fell to the ground. It was like hitting a wall. He looked up and saw the soldier was equally startled to see him there, too.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”
Motley, Cassandra and White caught up, and as the soldier looked at them he must have realized right away what they were up to. He drew his sword and scowled, and Aidan braced himself as he swung for him.
To Aidan’s surprise, Motley lunged forward and leapt on the soldier’s back, saving Aidan from a deadly blow. Motley wrestled with the bigger man awkwardly, knocking him off balance, grabbing for his arm, until finally the soldier reached around and slammed Motley into a cell.
Motley groaned and dropped to the ground, unmoving.
The soldier again set his sights on Aidan and charged for him. Aidan scurried to make it back to his feet, but knew he wouldn’t make it in time—and even if he did, there would be little he could do to fend off this man. As he expected a blow in his back, suddenly Cassandra charged forward and got between him and the soldier. Aidan was in awe at her courage. She attacked the soldier, three times her size, slashing with her dagger.
But the massive soldier hardly even slowed as he merely grabbed her wrist and yanked it back. Cassandra screamed as he slammed her into a wall, sending her to the ground.
The soldier again came for Aidan, who just made his feet, and as Aidan stood there, weaponless, White lunged forward and bit down on the soldier’s wrist. This soldier, though, was more tenacious than the others; while that bite would have dropped other men, this soldier merely reached around and smashed White
into the wall, again and again, each blow paining Aidan to see.
White, to his credit, did not let go, yet Aidan could see he was getting badly injured.
Aidan, determined to help his friend, rushed forward and grabbed the dagger that Cassandra had dropped, raised it high, and charged. He shrieked as he sank it into the soldier’s back with both hands. He felt the blade entering flesh.
The soldier shrieked this time. He immediately let go of White as he fell to the ground, then in the same motion, to Aidan’s surprise, reached back and elbowed Aidan in the nose. Aidan dropped to the ground, blinded by pain. This man was a force.
The soldier turned, scowling, and somehow managed to remove the dagger from his back. In a fury, he bore down on Aidan, this time ready to kill him.
Motley, regaining his feet, rushed forward and again leapt on the soldier’s back. The soldier twisted and turned, trying to knock him off, but Motley would not let go this time. In fact, he wrapped a meaty forearm around the soldier’s throat, and he squeezed with all his might.
The soldier grunted and shrieked as he crisscrossed the corridor, slamming Motley into one wall after the next. Motley groaned with each slam, but to his credit, he refused to let go. The soldier simply could not manage to pry Motley’s arm off his throat.
Finally, the soldier grew weak and sank to his knees.
At the same moment, Aidan raced forward, grabbed his dagger, and plunged it into the soldier’s heart.
With Motley still holding his throat, the soldier dropped to the ground, dead, Motley falling on top of him.
Aidan looked over to see Motley kneeling there, covered in blood, staring down at the dead soldier as if shocked himself by what he had done.
While they all stood there, stunned, collecting themselves, Cassandra broke into action. She reached down and grabbed the keys off the soldier’s waist, then ran to the final set of iron bars. She fumbled with the keys, and Aidan, realizing, hurried over and helped her, both of them trying one after the next.
Finally, there came a click and they swung the cell door open.
They burst into the final, darkened cell, even darker than the others. As they raced through it, colder in here, more damp, Aidan wondered how any human being could keep anyone down here. It was too cruel for words.
“FATHER!” Aidan called out, hoping, praying.
Aidan ran through the dark room, unable to see his feet, stumbling, lit only by a single torch in the far corner. He prayed he had found the right place; after all, this was the lowest cell in the lowest part of the dungeon complex, and it seemed to him the logical place to keep their most important prisoner. If not, there would be no turning back—he would fail his father, and they would all die down here.
“FATHER!” he shrieked again, running desperately through the cavernous room, fanning out with the others. He was beginning to lose hope. Had he been crazy to attempt to come down here in the first place?
“Aidan?” came a weak voice.
It was so weak that Aidan at first wondered if he had heard it. Then he felt his heart rise into his throat as he detected motion in the darkness.
He rushed to the far wall, and there, barely illuminated in the dark cell, was his father. Aidan wept at the sight of him. There sat his father, a broken man, emaciated, shackled to the floor like an animal, too weak to sit up. He had never seen him like this and it broke his heart.
“Father!”
Aidan rushed to his father’s side, knelt down, and hugged him. His father, in shackles, was barely able to hug him back, but he did as much as he could. Aidan was brimming with joy; it had been such a long journey since setting out from Volis, a journey he had never thought he would actually complete.
“Aidan,” his father replied weakly. His father seemed stunned, as if Aidan were the last person he had expected to see. “What are you doing here? Why are you not in Volis?”
His father looked over and peered at Motley, Cassandra and White as they closed in.
“And who are these people with you?”
Aidan’s heart fell to see the sorry state his father was in, his chapped lips and bruised body. He could only imagine what they had done to him.
He held out his water sack, and his father drank greedily.
“Not too much,” Motley cautioned, stepping forward, holding the sack. “He will get sick.”
Aidan pulled back the sack as his father gasped with a great breath of relief.
“The keys!” Aidan called out, pained to see his father in shackles.
Cassandra rushed forward and fumbled with the key ring until she finally unlocked the shackles securing Duncan’s wrists and ankles.
His father leaned forward and fell into Aidan’s arms, too weak to stand. They all helped him to his feet, and Motley draped an arm around his shoulder, helping him to stand, to walk.
Distant noises of conflict erupted somewhere above ground.
“We must go!” Motley urged.
They hobbled back down through the dungeon corridors, past all the other cells, turning down endless halls. Aidan could hardly believe he actually had his father in his arms, that he really did it. Seeing him, he felt a reason to live again.
They turned down one corridor after another, until they finally reached the staircase again. They climbed the steps as best they could, all dragging Duncan, until finally they reached the upper level.
It was brighter up here, and Aidan, glad to smell fresh air again, could hear the fighting in the distance. He saw his father’s men, still locked in battle with the Pandesian soldiers. His father’s men, he was dismayed to see, were surrounded, many of them falling. Yet they were not backing down, and they were providing the crucial distraction that Aidan needed.
Aidan ran in their direction, sticking to the shadows, to any recesses in the wall they could find. His heart slammed as they made their way down the corridors, getting ever closer to the exit, to freedom. He craved to be back on the streets, far away from this place, from Andros, yet he had a sinking feeling he would never get out of here alive.
Finally, as they turned down the final corridor, Aidan saw it, right there before them: the door to freedom. It was open.
Aidan stepped out of the shadows, preparing to run for it, when suddenly, his view went black. He looked up to see his path was blocked. Standing before them was a huge Pandesian soldier, holding a sword and blocking their way.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” he sneered, looking over the group of them, his eyes resting on Duncan.
The soldier stepped forward, sword raised high, and Aidan knew they were finished. With Duncan in tow, there was no way they could defend themselves, and none of them were well armed enough, or could react quickly enough, to stop this man. Aidan braced himself for a sword in his gut. Even worse, for his father to be killed. What an awful place to die, he thought. Right here, just when they were staring at the gates to freedom.
Suddenly, the soldier gasped and dropped to his knees, falling face first in front of them, dead.
Aidan looked down, shocked, seeing a hatchet in his back.
He looked up and was baffled to see another Pandesian soldier approaching to kill them. He was confused. Why, he wondered, would a Pandesian soldier kill one of his own?
Aidan braced himself as the other Pandesian neared.
But then the Pandesian raised his helmet, revealing himself, and Aidan’s heart flooded with shock as he saw who it was:
Anvin.
“Anvin!” Duncan cried, seeing his old friend.
Anvin rushed forward and embraced them all, and without hesitating draped an arm around Duncan, helping to prop him up.
“We must hurry!”
Aidan saw a boy about his age come running forward, in a panic, and as he ran to Anvin’s side and began to help carry Duncan, he realized it must be Anvin’s squire.
The group of them turned and burst out of the final cell, out of the dungeons, back into the streets, and somewhere, in the chaotic
capital night, toward freedom.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Merk hiked along the endless rocks of the Devil’s Finger, slipping, struggling to keep his footing, nearly drunk with exhaustion as he headed into the sunset. His eyes were so heavy he could barely keep them open, and he ached from every corner of his body, most of all from the wound left by that crab, still festering on his shin. Yet he knew he was lucky to be alive.
Endless waves of fog rolled in, carried by gusts of wind off the ocean and bay, some strong enough to knock him off balance. All the while he was plagued by the distant sound of the horns of Marda, echoing in the fog, haunting him, keeping the pressure on. After so many days of hiking without another soul in sight, he was beginning to realize why no one else dared this: hiking the Devil’s Finger meant taking your life into your hands.
Merk was losing hope of ever reaching the Tower of Kos; he was beginning to wonder if it truly existed, or if it was just a legend. He felt so weak, hands trembling from exhaustion, he knew he could never make it back. He found himself fantasizing about life on the mainland, about the bounties of Escalon. What he would give to be on flat, smooth, dry land again. To be anywhere in the world but here.
Each step more and more of an effort, Merk found himself sinking into despair. He caught himself looking down into the cracks and wondering how easy it might be to just step inside one of them and allow himself to plummet to his death. He looked left and right, to the ocean and to the bay, and realized how easy it would be to allow himself to slip over the edge, to plummet to his death. Maybe, he started to think, it would be a relief.
Merk looked up, hopeful despite himself one last time as he mounted another boulder—yet was crushed to see nothing but more rocks. He was certain that this was what death felt like, an endless trek to nowhere, tortured with each step. This was payback for the life he had led. After all, he had murdered dozens of people in his life, for hire, and this lonely hike forced him to reflect on all of them. He saw their faces, thought of the life he had led honestly for the first time, and he did not like what he saw. This odyssey, strangely enough, had been the true pilgrimage for him. Maybe that’s why the Sword of Fire was here.
