by Morgan Rice
Beyond exhausted, Dierdre finally let herself go. Her face fell to the ground as she lay there, letting the pain of what had happened overcome her. She couldn’t move if she tried.
Moments later she was fast asleep, barely alive on a remote field in a corner of the world. Yet somehow, she was alive.
*
“Dierdre,” came a voice, and a gentle nudge.
Dierdre peeled open her eyes, dazed to see it was sunset. Icy cold, her clothes still wet, she tried to get her bearings, wondering how long she had been lying here, wondering if she were alive or dead. Then the hand came again, nudging her shoulder.
Dierdre looked up and there, to her immense relief, was Marco. He was alive, she was overjoyed to see. He looked beaten up, haggard, too pale, and he looked as if he had aged a hundred years. Yet he was alive. Somehow, he had managed to survive.
Marco knelt beside her, smiling yet looking down at her with sad eyes, eyes not shining with the life they once held.
“Marco,” she answered weakly, startled at how raspy her own voice was.
She noticed a gash on the side of his face and, concerned, reached out to touch it.
“You look as bad as I feel,” she said.
He helped her up and she rose to her feet, her body wracked with pain from all the aches and bruises, scratches and cuts all up and down her arms and legs. Yet as she tested each limb, at least nothing was broken.
Dierdre took a deep breath and steeled herself as she turned and looked behind her. As she feared, it was a nightmare: her beloved city was gone, now nothing but a part of the sea, the only thing sticking up a small part of the bell tower. On the horizon beyond it she saw a fleet of black Pandesian ships, making their way deeper and deeper inland.
“We can’t stay here,” Marco said with urgency. “They’re coming.”
“Where can we go?” she asked, feeling hopeless.
Marco stared back, blank, clearly not knowing either.
Dierdre stared out at the sunset, trying to think, blood pounding in her ears. Everyone she knew and loved was dead. She felt she had nothing left to live for, nowhere left to go. Where could you go when your home city was destroyed? When the weight of the world was bearing down on you?
Dierdre closed her eyes and shook her head in grief, wishing it all away. Her father, she knew, was back there, dead. His soldiers were all dead. People she had known and loved all her life, all of them dead, all thanks to these Pandesian monsters. Now there was no one left to stop them. What cause was there to go on?
Dierdre, despite herself, broke down weeping. Thinking of her father, she dropped to her knees, feeling devastated. She wept and wept, wanting to die here herself, wishing she had died, cursing the heavens for allowing her to live. Why couldn’t she have just drowned in that wave? Why couldn’t she just have been killed with the others? Why had she been cursed with life?
She felt a soothing hand on her shoulder.
“It’s okay, Dierdre,” Marco said softly.
Dierdre flinched, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, weeping. “It’s just that… my father… Now I have nothing.”
“You’ve lost everything,” Marco said, his voice heavy, too. “I have, too. I don’t want to go on, either. But we have to. We can’t lie here and die. It would dishonor them. It would dishonor everything they lived and fought for.”
In the long silence that followed, Dierdre slowly pulled herself upright, realizing he was right. Besides, as she looked up at Marco’s brown eyes, staring back at her with compassion, she realized she did have someone. She had Marco. She also had the spirit of her father, looking down, watching over her, wishing her to be strong.
She forced herself to shake out of it. She had to be strong. Her father would want her to be strong. Self-pity, she realized, would help no one. And neither would her death.
She stared back at Marco, and she could see more than compassion—she could also see the love in his eyes for her.
Not even fully aware of what she was doing, Dierdre, her heart pounding, leaned in and met Marco’s lips in an unexpected kiss. For a moment, she felt herself transported to another world, and all her worries disappeared.
She slowly pulled back, staring at him, shocked. Marco looked equally surprised. He took her hand.
As he did, encouraged, filled with hope, she was able to think clearly again—and a thought came to her. There was someone else, a place to go, a person to turn to.
Kyra.
Dierdre felt a sudden rush of hope.
“I know where we must go,” she said excitedly, in a rush.
Marco looked at her, wondering.
“Kyra,” she said. “We can find her. She will help us. Wherever she is, she is fighting. We can join her.”
“But how do you know she is alive?” he asked.
Dierdre shook her head.
“I don’t,” she replied. “But Kyra always survives. She is the strongest person I have ever met.”
“Where is she?” he asked.
Dierdre thought, and she recalled the last time she had seen Kyra, forking north, for the Tower.
“The Tower of Ur,” she said.
Marco looked back, surprised; then a glimmer of optimism crossed his eyes.
“The Watchers are there,” he said. “As are other warriors. Men who can fight with us.” He nodded, excited. “A good choice,” he added. “We can be safe in that tower. And if your friend is there, then all the better. It’s a day’s hike from here. Let us go. We must move quickly.”
He took her hand, and without another word the two of them took off, Dierdre filled with a new sense of optimism as they headed into the forest, and somewhere, on the horizon, for the Tower of Ur.
CHAPTER THREE
Kyra braced herself as she walked into a field of fire. The flames rose to the sky then lowered just as quickly, turning all different colors, caressing her as she walked with her arms out by her sides. She felt its intensity, felt it enveloping her, wrapping her in a thin embrace. She knew she was walking into death, and yet she could walk no other way.
And yet somehow, incredibly, she did not feel pain. She felt a sense of peace. A sense of her life ending.
She looked out and through the flames, she saw her mother, awaiting her somewhere at the far end, on the opposite side of the field. She felt a sense of peace, as she finally knew she would be in her mother’s embrace.
I’m here, Kyra, she called. Come to me.
Kyra peered into the flames and could just make out her mother’s face, nearly translucent, partially hidden as a wall of flame shot up. She walked deeper into the crackling flames, unable to stop until she was surrounded on all sides.
A roar cut through the air, even above the sound of the fire, and she looked up and was in awe to see a sky filled with dragons. They circled and shrieked, and as she watched, one huge dragon roared and dove down just for her.
Kyra sensed it was death coming for her.
As the dragon neared, its talons extended, suddenly the ground dropped out beneath her and Kyra found herself falling, hurtling down into the earth, an earth filled with flame, a place from which she knew she would never escape.
Kyra opened her eyes with a start, breathing hard. She looked all around, wondering where she was, feeling pain in every corner of her body. She felt the pain in her face, her cheek swollen, throbbing, and as she slowly lifted her head, finding it hard to breathe, she found that her face was encased in mud. She was, she realized, lying face first in the mud, and as she placed her palms in it and slowly pushed up, she wiped mud back from her face, wondering what was happening.
A sudden roar ripped through the air, and Kyra looked up and felt a wave of terror as she spotted something in the sky that was very real. The air was filled with dragons of all shapes and sizes and colors, all circling, screeching, breathing fire into the air, filled with fury. As she watched, one swooped down and breathed a column of flame all the way to the ground.
Kyra looked over and took in her surroundings, and her heart skipped a beat as she realized where she was: Andros.
It all came rushing back to her. She had been flying atop Theon, racing back to Andros to save her father, when they had been attacked in the sky by that flock of dragons. They had appeared from nowhere in the sky, had bitten Theon, had thrown them down to the ground. Kyra realized she must have blacked out.
Now she woke to a wave of heat, of awful shrieking, of a capital in chaos, and she looked about and saw the capital aflame. Everywhere, people were running for their lives, shrieking, as fire descended in waves, like a storm. It looked as if the end of the world had come.
Kyra heard labored breathing, and her heart fell to see Theon lying close by, on his side, wounded, blood pouring from his scales. His eyes were closed, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, and he looked on the verge of death. The only reason they were still alive, she realized, was that she and Theon were covered in a mound of rubble. They must have been thrown into a building, which collapsed on top of them. At least that had kept them sheltered, out of view of the dragons high above.
Kyra knew she had to get herself and Theon out of there at once. They hadn’t much time until they were spotted.
“Theon!” she urged.
She turned and heaved, crushed by the rubble, and finally managed to shove a huge piece of rubble off her back, freeing herself. She then hurried over to Theon and frantically shoved at the mound of rubble atop him. She was able to push off most of the rocks, yet as she shoved at the large boulder on his back, pinning him down, she got nowhere. She shoved again and again, yet no matter how hard she tried, it would not budge.
Kyra ran over and grabbed Theon’s face, desperate to rouse him. She stroked his scales, and slowly, to her relief, Theon opened his eyes. Yet he then closed his eyes again, as she shook him harder.
“Wake up!” Kyra demanded. “I need you!”
Theon’s eyes opened again, slightly, then turned and looked over at her. The pain and fury in his eyes softened as he recognized her. He tried to shift, to get up, but clearly he was too weak; the boulder pinned him down.
Kyra shoved the boulder furiously, yet she broke down crying as she realized they could not get it to move. Theon was stuck. He would die here. And so would she.
Kyra, hearing a roar, looked up and saw a massive dragon with spiked green scales had spotted them. It roared with fury, then began to dive right for them.
Leave me.
Kyra heard a voice reverberating deep inside her. Theon’s voice.
Hide. Go far from here. While there is still time.
“No!” she cried, shaking, refusing to leave him.
Go, he urged. Or else we will both die here.
“Then we shall both die!” she cried, a steely determination overtaking her. She would not abandon her friend. Not ever.
The sky darkened and Kyra looked up to see the huge dragon diving down, talons extended. It opened its mouth, rows of sharpened teeth showing, and she knew she would not survive. But she did not care. She would not abandon Theon. Death would take her. But not cowardice. She did not fear dying.
Only not living well.
CHAPTER FOUR
Duncan ran with the others through the streets of Andros, hobbling, trying his best to keep pace with Aidan, Motley, and the young girl with them, Cassandra, while Aidan’s dog, White, nipped at his heels and urged him on. Dragging his arm was his old and trusted commander, Anvin, his new squire Septin by his side, trying his best to keep him moving, yet clearly in bad shape himself. Duncan could see how injured his friend was, and it moved him that he had come in this state, had risked his life and traveled all this way to free him.
The ragtag group sprinted down the war-torn streets of Andros, chaos erupting all around them, all the odds against them for survival. On the one hand, Duncan felt so relieved to be free, so happy to see his son again, so grateful to be with all of them. Yet as he searched the skies, he also sensed he had left a jail cell only to be thrown into a sure death. The sky was filled with circling dragons, swooping down, swiping buildings, destroying the city as they breathed their awful columns of flame. Entire streets were filled with fire, blocking off the group’s every turn. As one street at a time was lost, escape from the capital seemed less and less likely.
Motley clearly knew these back alleys well, and he led them deftly, turning down one alley after another, finding shortcuts everywhere, managing to avoid the roving packs of Pandesian soldiers, which was the other threat to their escape. Yet Motley, for all his craftiness, could not avoid the dragons, and as he turned them down another alley, it, too, was suddenly aflame. They all stopped in their tracks, faces burning from the heat, and retreated.
Duncan, covered in sweat as he backed up, looked to Motley, and he took no solace as, this time, Motley turned every which way, his face etched in panic.
“This way!” Motley finally said.
He turned and led them down another side alley, and they ducked beneath a stone arch right before a dragon filled the spot they had just stood with a fresh wave of fire.
As they ran, it pained Duncan to see this great city torn apart, this place he had once loved and defended. He could not help but feel as if Escalon would never be returned to its former glory. That his homeland was ruined forever.
There came a shout, and Duncan glanced back over his shoulder to see dozens of Pandesian soldiers had spotted them. They were chasing them down the alley, closing in, and Duncan knew they could not fight them—and could not outrun them. The exit to the city was still far, and their time had run out.
There suddenly came a great crash—and Duncan looked up to see a dragon swipe the bell tower off the castle with its talons.
“Look out!” he yelled.
He lunged forward and knocked Aidan and the others out of the way right before the remnants of the tower crashed beside them. A huge chunk of stone landed behind him with a deafening crash, raising up a pile of dust.
Aidan looked up at his father, shock and gratitude in his eyes, and Duncan felt a sense of satisfaction that he had at least saved his son’s life.
Duncan heard the muffled shouts, and he turned and realized, with gratitude, that the rubble had at least blocked the way of the pursuing soldiers.
They kept running, Duncan struggling to keep up, his weakness and injuries from his imprisonment gnawing away at him; he was still malnourished, bruised, and beaten, and each step was a painful effort. Yet he forced himself to go on, if for no other reason than to make sure his son and his friends survived. He could not let them down.
They turned a narrow corner and reached a fork in the alleyways. They paused, all looking to Motley.
“We have to get out of this city!” Cassandra yelled to Motley, clearly frustrated. “And you don’t even know where you’re going!”
Motley looked left, then right, clearly stumped.
“There used to be a brothel down this alley,” he said, looking to his right. “It leads out the back of the city.”
“A brothel?” Cassandra retorted. “Nice company that you keep.”
“I don’t care what company you keep,” Anvin added, “as long as it gets us out of here.”
“Let’s just hope it’s not blocked,” Aidan added.
“Let’s go!” Duncan called out.
Motley began to run again, turning right, out of shape and gasping for breath.
They turned and followed, all putting their hope in Motley as he ran through the deserted back alleys of the capital.
They turned again and again, and finally, they came upon a low stone archway. They all ducked, running through it, and as they emerged from the other side, Duncan was relieved to find it open up. He was thrilled to see, in the distance, the rear gate of Andros, and the open plains and desert beyond it. Just beyond the gate stood dozens of Pandesian horses, tied up, clearly abandoned by their dead riders.
Motley grinned.
“I told you,” he said.
Duncan ran with the others, gaining speed, feeling returned to his old self again, feeling a whole new rush of hope—when suddenly, there came a cry that pierced his soul.
He stopped short, listening.
“Wait!” he called out to the others.
They all stopped and looked back at him as if he were mad.
Duncan stood there, waiting. Could it be? He could have sworn he had heard the voice of his daughter. Kyra. Was he hearing things?
Of course, he must have imagined it. How could she possibly be here, in Andros? She was far from here, across Escalon, in the Tower of Ur, safe and sound.
Yet he could not bring himself to leave after hearing it.
He stood there, frozen, waiting—and then, he heard it again. His hair stood on end. He was sure this time. It was Kyra.
“Kyra!” he said aloud, his eyes widening.
Without thinking, he turned his back on the others, turned his back on the exit, and ran back into the flaming city.
“Where are you going!?” Motley called out behind him.
“Kyra is here!” he called, still running. “And she’s in danger!”
“Are you mad?” Motley said, rushing up and grabbing his shoulder. “You run back to a certain death!”
But Duncan, determined, shoved Motley’s hand away and continued to run.
“A certain death,” he replied, “would be turning my back on the daughter I love.”
Duncan did not pause as he turned down an alleyway alone, sprinting back into death, into a city aflame. He knew it would mean his death. And he did not care. As long as he could see Kyra again.
Kyra, he thought. Wait for me.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Most Holy and Supreme Ra sat on his golden throne in the capital, in the midst of Andros, looked down on the chamber filled with his generals, slaves, and supplicants, and rubbed his palms into the throne’s arms, burning with dissatisfaction. He knew he should feel victorious, sated, after all he had achieved. After all, Escalon had been the last holdout of freedom in the world, the last place in his empire not completely under his subjugation, and in the last few days he had managed to lead his forces through one of his great routs of all time. He closed his eyes and smiled, relishing the image of running over the Southern Gate, unimpeded, of razing all the cities in southern Escalon, of blazing a trail north, all the way to the capital. He grinned as he reflected that this country, once so bountiful, was now a massive grave.
