by Morgan Rice
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Alec stood at the bow of the ship, gripping the rail with one hand and the Unfinished Sword with the other, ocean spray hitting him in the face as their huge ship rose and fell in the turbulent waters of the Bay of Death. He had a knot in his stomach as he reentered his homeland, filled with dread to be entering Escalon again since the invasion. He knew what was awaiting him, and he felt as if he were sailing to his death.
The Bay of Death hardly set him at ease, either. He had never sailed a body of water even remotely like this one, its waters so black, dotted with the white foam caps of whirlpools, spraying everywhere as the wind ripped off the water. The currents were wild and unpredictable, throwing their ship from side to side, then suddenly up and down. They crashed into wave after wave, and he was hardly able to get his footing.
Alec looked behind him and took solace in seeing the fleet from the Lost Isles following, all of them having sailed for days to cross the Sea of Tears. Beside him stood their leader, while on his other side stood Sovos, all staring intently at the waters ahead and gripping the rails, knowing life and death hung in the balance.
Alec looked out ahead, and the sight made his blood run cold. The sky was filled with dragons, screeching, diving down low then up high again, spitting fire down into the sea and circling the isle of Knossos, the legendary fort. They rained down fire on it and smashed it with their talons as if they wanted to tear it to shreds.
Alec watched as a dragon dove down and with its long talons sliced away a whole section of the fort. A great rumble followed as boulders rolled down the cliffs and crashed into the bay.
Down below, in the waters, the sight was no more reassuring: thousands of trolls floated in the waters, dead, burned or sliced to death, while hundreds more human warriors shrieked and fell off the cliffs, trying unsuccessfully to escape the dragons’ wrath.
It was a scene of chaos and death. Alec studied it confusion, wondering what had happened here. It appeared that an army of trolls had invaded, had attacked the small isle of Knossos, and Alec wondered why. He wondered how the trolls could have made it this far south.
Most of all, he was stunned by the dragons. He had never seen a real dragon in his life, and he had not even been truly sure they existed until now. He wondered how they could have reached Escalon, where they had come from. He wondered how his beloved country could have changed so quickly. He had left but weeks before, and now it was a land torn apart, a land he barely recognized, filled with monsters and death.
Alec felt a deepening sense of apprehension as he witnessed the power of those beasts. He clutched the sword in his hand, felt it vibrating, and he looked down at it, surprised as always. It had begun to glow, and it seemed to be pointing up at the sky. At the dragons.
Alec felt a rush of energy flow through his hand, his wrist, his arm, and he wondered. Could a weapon really harm a dragon? Was he truly meant to wield it? It felt, as he held it, as if the sword were leading them right into the very heart of chaos and destruction.
Suddenly, Alec had a realization. He turned to Sovos.
“This is no mistake,” he said. “You are sailing us right toward the dragons.”
Sovos nodded silently, still looking straight ahead, and Alec was mortified.
“But why? Do you wish to kill us all?”
Sovos ignored him.
“It is because of the Sword, isn’t it?” Alec asked, piecing it all together. Alec grabbed his arm, demanding. “You think this Sword can save us?”
Sovos still ignored him, and Alec felt a rush of fear and outrage.
“Do you really expect to attack a flock of dragons with a single sword?” Alec asked. “And do you expect me to lead that attack?”
Finally, Sovos turned to him.
“You are the only hope we have,” he answered gravely.
Alec heard an awful screech, looked up at the skies, and he felt a sense of awe at the thought. Looking up at those massive creatures circling high above, those ancient, primordial beasts who had lived for thousands of years, he could not conceive how a simple sword could make any difference, could even scratch the smallest of their scales.
Alec gripped the Sword tighter.
“And if you’re wrong?” Alec asked, gulping.
Sovos shook his head.
“If we are wrong,” he said, looking grimly out to sea, “then all of us will die. They will find us, whether it is on Escalon or the Lost Isles. Fleeing is not an option.”
He turned to Alec and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“You must try, Alec,” he said. “Legend has always told that the sword, if forged, could fend off a dragon. The time has come to put legend to the test.”
Alec gripped the rail as a massive wave rolled beneath the ship, raising it up, and he felt sick as they all came splashing down. Inch by painful inch they sailed closer to the isle, to the flock of dragons. He heard a sudden thumping down below, and he searched the waters to see scores of bodies, humans and trolls, floating face-up, the currents carrying them away. It was a macabre scene, one Alec already wanted to wipe from his mind.
The currents shifted strongly, and they skirted Knossos, to the left of the isle, circling behind it. As they did, Alec narrowed his eyes and spotted two bodies in the water, flailing amidst the torrential currents. Unlike all the other bodies, these were alive.
“Survivors!” Alec called out. “Do you see?”
The others pressed close and stared into the waters, and finally, they spotted them, too. Alec saw a man with a short beard and the hardened face of a mercenary floating beside the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. This unlikely couple were holding onto each other, keeping each other afloat. And they stared up at the sky in terror.
Alec looked up, wondering, and before he could even see it, he heard the ear-splitting roar. He looked up, horrified, to see a massive dragon, diving down right for them. It reached out with its talons and opened its great mouth, revealing rows of sharpened teeth, some of them longer than Alec.
Alec stood there, trembling, forcing himself to overcome his fear. He felt the Sword pulsing in his palm, and it gave him strength. He knew this was the time. The time for courage. The time for life and death. The time to save these people.
As they sailed ever closer to the dragon, he sensed that he, the smith of this sword, was the only one who could wield this weapon, who could change the fate of Escalon.
“We all die,” Sovos said, turning to him, his eyes a piercing blue, aglow with adrenaline and terror. “The question is, how? This is your moment to decide. Will you die boldly? Or will you shrink to your death, as a coward?”
Alec stood there, feeling the power of the Sword ripple through him, up and down his arms, through his entire body, and he realized how insane this was. He, a lone boy from a small village, a nobody, facing off with a dragon with a simple sword.
And yet the dragon dove down, and he felt in his heart he could not let these people die. He made his decision.
Rushing forward, Alec jumped up on the beam, ran to the very edge of the rail, placed each foot firmly on a narrow strip of wood so that he had his footing, and faced the enemy. Waves splashed at his feet as he stood there, high above the others, legs apart, firmly planted and holding out the Sword.
The dragon suddenly looked up at him, forgetting its victims down below, and shrieked, as if infuriated at the sight of the Sword. It changed course, diving straight down for Alec instead.
A moment later, it released a stream of flame.
Alec turned his head and braced himself, expecting to be burnt alive, and raised the sword out before him.
Yet suddenly, to his shock, the flames stopped in midair. They stopped as if hitting a wall, twenty yards away from him—and then they disappeared.
The dragon looked just as shocked as Alec was.
Yet still, it continued to fly, scowling, opening its jaws wider, focusing only on him. It opened its wings wide and flew ever closer, as if to swallow h
im. Soon the dragon was but feet away, Alec’s entire world dark beneath its shadow.
Alec knew this was his only chance. His heart slamming, suppressing his fear, he shrieked a great battle cry and leapt from the ship, holding the Sword out before him. He jumped up, right into the dragon’s mouth, and drove the sword straight up, into the roof of the dragon’s palate, driving it in with all his might.
Blood poured down in rivers as the dragon shrieked an awful noise, the vibration of it ejecting Alec from its mouth and sending him tumbling head over heels into the sea.
And as he swirled in the relentless waters of the Bay of Death, the last thing he saw was the great dragon, so alive but moments before, closing its eyes and plummeting into the sea, beside him, despite every possible logic, dead.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Vesuvius flailed in the raging waters of the Bay of Death, gasping for air as the wild currents nearly sucked him down. He swam his way back up to the surface after each current dragged him under and, exhausted, wounded, he knew he couldn’t last long. All around him there floated the dead bodies of his army of trolls, and it was like one big floating grave.
Vesuvius heard a rushing noise, and he glanced over his shoulder and was struck with terror to see a looming whirlpool, its whitecaps visible over the blackened water. In the other direction dragons screeched, diving and rising, crossing the sky with flame and breathing fire down into the waters, sending up columns of steam. Death awaited him on all sides.
Vesuvius could not believe he had found himself in this position. But moments ago his men were overtaking Knossos, closing in on Lorna, the warriors, about to wipe them all out and claim total victory. He had been so close to completing his victory, to destroying any last remnants of the rebels, to discovering what else that girl had been guarding in the tower, to learning how to keep the Flames down forever. It had all been right at his fingertips.
Then the dragons had appeared, and everything had changed. It had been a massacre, and he had been lucky to escape with his life, diving off the cliff and using his trolls to cushion his fall. Yet now here he was, suffering the first defeat of his life, floating at sea, barely clinging to life, all his dreams crushed.
Yet he refused to die. Not here, and not in this place. Vesuvius knew he had more death and destruction to wreak upon the world, and his job was unfinished. He certainly would not die until he had first vanquished the people of Escalon. He had to make them pay, all of them, and he would not let it end like this. He had been in worse positions before—and he had always survived. Death was terrible—but he was, he knew, more terrible than death.
As Vesuvius began to get sucked into the whirlpool’s currents, he heard a shout, looked over, and saw nearby a few other trolls who had survived. His generals. They had loyally stayed by his side at every step, determined to protect him, helping to prop him up as best they could. Seeing them gave Vesuvius had an idea.
He suddenly twisted around, grabbed a general, and shoved him, sending him face-first into the whirlpool instead. The general shrieked as the waters began to suck him down, a look of shock and betrayal on his face. At the same, while he began to sink, Vesuvius leaned back and kicked off of him, using his leverage to send the general flying into the hole—and to kick himself away from the swirling current.
The move gave Vesuvius just enough momentum to swim away from the currents. He swam furiously, and within moments he was out of harm’s way. He heard the general’s muffled shrieks and watched him get sucked under for good. At least the troll had died in good service.
Vesuvius, bobbing wildly in the waters, set his sights on the rocky shore up ahead, on the far side of the bay, where so many of his trolls had washed up dead. He kicked and flailed and managed to grab hold of a large piece of flotsam. Finally, he could float.
For the first time, he breathed easy, resting his aching shoulders for a moment as he held onto the plank, bobbing up and down in the waters. It gave him the second wind he needed. He kicked, and this time, he caught the current and found himself on a rolling wave that crested high, then brought him crashing down low, all the while carrying him closer to shore.
He braced himself as the jagged rocks loomed and he came rushing right for the edge of the shore. Yet there was nothing he could do stop it.
Vesuvius smashed into the rocks, the pain so intense he thought all his bones were cracking. Yet in a sense, he enjoyed the pain. It made him feel alive again. He enjoyed feeling pain as much as he enjoyed inflicting it upon others.
Vesuvius shrieked, overcoming the pain, reached out and grabbed hold of a crack in the rocks, his hands slipping, holding on for dear life. As the currents threatened to carry him back out to sea, he held on for dear life, slipping on the moss. Finally, losing his grip, he reached out and snatched the floating plank beside him, then held it out and jammed it in the rocks.
He held on for dear life as a huge wave rushed back out to sea, trying to carry him. But he held on, and Vesuvius, this time, was safe.
Vesuvius quickly clambered up the rocks, breathing hard, arms shaking, until he finally collapsed onto the shore. He dropped down face-first on the rocky shore, amidst all the corpses, the only troll left alive in a sea of dead bodies.
And before he collapsed, there was one thing he knew for certain: he would live. At all costs, he would live. And he would wreak havoc on Escalon unlike any they had ever seen.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Aidan held on tight as his horse galloped across the wasteland, riding beside Anvin, Leifall and the hundreds of men of Leptus, as they had for hours. Covered in dust, gasping for air, White keeping pace at their feet, finally they crested a hill and Aidan saw what they had come for: the towering cliffs of Everfall.
Aidan was awed by the sight. The cliffs rose from the wasteland like a monument to the heavens, and gushing and roaring down them were the largest waterfalls he had ever seen. It was spectacular. Their roar was deafening. Even from here, he felt himself sprayed with mist, the cool air and water so refreshing, cooling him down from the trek.
Aidan dismounted with the others and stood there, looking up, taking it all in. Water gushed down from hundreds of feet high, from impossibly high cliffs, smashing into rocks, creating huge columns of spray and coursing into a raging river which wound its way out past Leptus and toward the Bay of Death. Aidan could hardly believe that things like this even existed in nature, so beautiful, so awe-inspiring, and seemingly untouched by any human hand.
He thought of his father’s plan to divert the water, to force it to change direction, to gush down the other side, and seeing it now, in person, it seemed impossible. Looking at it, so ancient, so powerful, Aidan doubted these waters could ever be made to change course. If they did, it seemed, they would flood the world.
“And now?” Anvin asked Leifall, shouting over the falls to be heard.
“We must go for the levers,” Leifall replied. “Follow me.”
Leifall hurried off at a brisk walk, his men following, and Aidan, too, followed, as he strutted around to the far side of the cliffs. Aidan found himself walking carefully on rock, slick with spray, slipping several times, the gushing noise ever louder, getting wetter by the second.
Finally, they reached the far side of the cliffs, and Leifall led them to a hidden cave. They ducked at the entrance, and Aidan followed them in.
Aidan found himself standing with the others inside an expansive cave, the arched ceiling rising thirty feet, the sound of the falls muted in here. He blinked as he adjusted to the dark, and as he did, he watched Leifall walk over to an enormous stone lever.
Anvin came over and studied it in wonder. Leifall turned to him.
“Built by our ancestors, for times of war,” Leifall said.
“What does it do?” Anvin asked.
“Pull it, and the great stones of Everfall will open. The falls can be redirected. A new river will form, and the land will change forever.”
Aidan stared in wonder.
&
nbsp; “Can they reach my father?” he asked, hopeful. “Can they flood the canyon?”
Leifall looked back, grave.
“I do not know,” he replied. “This lever has never been pulled.”
Aidan stared at it silently, wondering.
“Then let us waste no time,” Anvin said.
One at a time, all the men rushed forward. Dozens of men pressed close as they each grabbed hold of the massive stone lever, thirty feet long, and began to pull it down with all their might.
They groaned from the effort and Aidan watched, hopeful. Yet his heart fell as they finally stopped, all backing away, unable to budge it.
Leifall shook his head.
“As I feared,” he said.
Aidan frowned.
“Is there no way to unlock it?” he demanded, impatient for his father’s sake.
Leifall walked over to a small passageway, low to the ground, cut into the stone by a small arch. He got on his hands and knees and tried without success to squeeze through. Then he stood, red-faced, and shook his head.
“At the end of the passageway,” he said, “there is a second lever. It might unlock the first. But we will never reach it. It was built to be hidden, inaccessible.”
Aidan felt a rush of adrenaline, as he suddenly knew what he needed to do.
“I can fit!” he called out.
The men all turned to him in wonder. Aidan rushed forward, fell to his hands and knees, and examined the small stone passageway.
“I can fit!” Aidan insisted. “I can reach the second lever.”
Anvin shook his head, grim.
“If you get stuck,” Anvin said, “you will die. None of us can reach you.”
