RISE OF THE VALIANT (KINGS AND SORCERERS--BOOK #2)

by Morgan Rice

  Bramthos grinned.

  “Looks like we came to save you just in time,” he said, examining Duncan’s wounds.

  Duncan grinned back.

  “We had them just where we wanted them.”

  After a long, shocked pause, Bramthos grinned wide, then stepped in and embraced Duncan. Duncan embraced him back, lost in this bear-of-a-man’s hug.

  “Duncan,” the man said.

  “Bramthos,” Duncan replied.

  “Ironic,” Duncan continued, as he stepped back and examined his old friend. It felt good to see him again, to be in the company of such great warriors. “I came here to save you, and you ended up saving us.”

  Bramthos’s grin widened.

  “And who ever said we needed saving?” Bramthos replied.

  Duncan grinned, seeing that his friend meant every word, and knowing it was true. These warriors of Kos needed no saving. They would fight anyone to the death and think nothing of it.

  Bramthos clasped Duncan’s shoulder, turned and began leading him and his men across the broad plateau. The hundreds of soldiers of Kos, gathered around, parted ways for them, all of them staring as they passed, strong, somber men, bedecked in armor and furs, wielding halberds, hammers, axes, and spears.

  Duncan found himself being led through a land of stone and ice, snow-covered peaks all around them, the wind whipping with a vengeance. In the distance he could see the outline of a city amidst the fast-moving clouds, a barren city atop the world. Duncan breathed easy, realizing they had really made it, had finally reached, against all odds, the brutal and unforgiving home to the people of Kos. He sensed that Bramthos was bringing him to their leader, Bramthos, and as they neared the city, Duncan knew that the meeting he was about to have, up here, high in the sky, would change the fate of Escalon forever.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  Kyra rode on the back of Andor, charging up and down the hills of Ur, riding into the scarlet sunset, her heart slamming with anticipation. She had been riding for hours, farther out into the peninsula, the ocean crashing on both sides of her as the land became increasingly barren. Now, finally, she was so close. Now, after her journey across Escalon, after all she had been through, she could see before her the object of her dreams. A tower she only dreamed existed.

  There it was, on the horizon, at the end of the lonely peninsula: what could only be the Tower of Ur. It stood so majestic, so proud, alone on the barren, windswept peninsula, its round tower rising straight into the air, hundreds of feet high, capped by a shining, golden dome. It appeared to be built of an ancient stone, an unusual shade of white, lit scarlet rays by the last rays of the sun. It was magnificent, unlike anything she had ever seen, a place of dreams. She could hardly believe that such places could exist in the world.

  As the sun lit up the tower, what caught her eye most were its doors—those incredible golden doors, arched, soaring fifty feet high—looking like great works of art. They were forbidding and welcoming at the same time. Framing the tower on all sides was the majestic crashing of ocean waves, the Sea of Sorrow as its backdrop, blanketing the horizon as far as she could see.

  Kyra paused on a hilltop, breathing hard as Andor did, too, taking a much needed rest as she took it all in. She could feel a magical power, an incredible energy, emanating off of this tower even from here, at once drawing her in and pushing her away. She recalled all the tales her father had read her of this place, the ancient bards who had sung of it, generation after generation, and she knew it held some of the great secrets—and most guarded treasures—of Escalon. Centuries of Watchers had inhabited it. It was a place of warriors, of creatures, of men and of honor.

  Kyra felt light-headed as she pondered who awaited her. Her uncle, the man who would reveal everything, who would teach her about her mother, her identity, her destiny and her powers. The man who would train her. Was it possible, Kyra dared to wonder, that her mother was alive? That she was here, too?

  So many questions raced through her mind, she did not know where to begin. She could hardly stand the anticipation, and she prodded Andor and breathlessly took off, the two of them galloping across the hills, down the final stretch.

  As she neared the tower, Kyra’s blood was coursing through her ears, making it hard to think. She had somehow crossed Escalon all by herself, without her father’s protection, or his men. She felt stronger from it already, and she had not even begun her training. She realized that her journey had been necessary preparation for her training. Now she understood why her father had sent her alone. He had wanted to make her stronger, to prepare her, to make her worthy.

  Kyra rode up and down the hills and as she was perhaps a hundred yards away from the entrance, she passed a curious marker. A circular staircase, carved of stone, rose perhaps twenty feet high and ended in nothing. It was like a stairway leading to the sky, an unfinished stairway that led to nothing, and she wondered what it signified.

  She continued riding, drawn to the tall golden doors, like a magnet pulling her in. As she approached the tower she looked everywhere, searching for any sign of her uncle, of anyone awaiting her.

  Yet, curiously, there was none.

  Finally, only fifty feet away the entrance, Kyra stopped, dismounted, and stood there, staring, breathing hard, taking it all in, wanted to approach it on foot. It was even more awe-inspiring up close. The doors were etched in strange golden carvings, filled with words, images. She walked slowly toward them, wanting to take in their beauty, and as she neared she squinted and was able to read the ancient script, once she had learned in her youth. It was a lost language of Escalon, a language dead for thousands of years. It was a script the king’s tutors had taught her well. She had been the only girl allowed to learn, and she had always wondered why.

  Kyra reached up and ran her fingers along the etchings, the words, reading passages which riveted her. Slowly, she pieced together their message. They were ancient sayings and parables aimed about the nature of honor, of valor.

  What is battle? read one of them.

  Where does your strength hail from? read another.

  Do you aim for your foe or for yourself? read another.

  There were secrets contained in these riddles, she felt, secrets that could take a lifetime to ponder and decipher.

  Kyra looked over the arched doorway, and high above read something etched in gold over it:

  Only the worthy may enter here.

  Kyra wondered who had carved these. It looked as if it had been done centuries ago, yet it resonated with her as if it had been written yesterday. She stepped forward and placed her palms on the doors, feeling the energy radiating off of them, then leaned back and craned her neck so that she could look straight up the tower. From this angle, it seemed to stretch into the heavens themselves.

  Kyra stepped back and slowly turned, looking around, getting her bearings for this strange place. It was utterly silent, except for the crashing of a wave, Leo’s whine, or Andor’s snort. The wind ripped off the ocean, whistling and howling in her ears. She looked everywhere, but to her surprise, saw no sign of her uncle—or of anyone else. It was hardly the welcome she had expected. Had this place been abandoned? Was she in the right place?

  Finally, she could wait no longer.

  “Uncle!” she cried out, unsure what to do.

  Where could everyone be? Was it possible that her uncle did not know she was coming? That he did not want to see her? Or worse—that he was already dead?

  Kyra drew her staff and knocked on the golden doors, at first quietly, then with more and more force.

  No one answered.

  She suspected no one would. After all, would he not have seen her approaching?

  Kyra, feeling confused, defeated, did not know what else to do. Night was falling, and she could not return to Volis. Not after all she’d been through.

  Kyra turned, put her back against the golden doors, and slowly slid down, until she sat on the ground. Leo came and lay down beside her, resting his h
ead in her lap, while Andor stood close by, grazing.

  She sat there, looking at the last rays of the dying sun as darkness fell all around her, and she wondered. Had her quest been for nothing?

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  Duncan walked beside Seavig, Anvin and Arthfael, hundreds of their following close behind, as they all entered the city of Kos. Duncan could hardly believe this place, this vast plateau on top of the world, at least a mile wide, nestled amidst snow-capped peaks. It was a perfect home for the people of Kos, a people strong and silent, separatist and unflappable, a people who lived not in fear of the elements around them. They approached massive arched gates, a hundred feet high, soaring into the clouds and carved of ice—ice, Duncan realized, that never melted. Duncan examined them in awe as they passed through them.

  They walked over a bridge of ice, and Duncan looked down and saw the chasm it spanned, twenty feet wide, the fall that would kill any man. He looked ahead and saw the bridge was leading them right into the city of Kos.

  They entered the city and as they did, the people of Kos emerged to watch them, hundreds of men, women and children appearing out of the wind-whipped snow, staring back expressionless, women standing over children, all watching wordlessly. They were a people who was hard to read: Duncan could not tell if they were ready to embrace them or kill them. Perhaps both.

  Fires somehow managed to burn in structures carved into the ice, curved to shelter them from the wind, and the air here was filled with the welcome smell of roasting meat. Duncan looked ahead and as a gust of wind drove away the clouds, he noticed a singular structure built from the ice, around which the entire city revolved: a temple. Shaped in a triangle, ending in a point, carved of ice, it rose a hundred feet, etched in an elaborate design, its facade carved with the faces of bearded warriors. The huge structure had a small opening, an arch just tall enough for people to walk through. A door into a world of ice.

  Bramthos led the way and Duncan entered, and as he did, he was in awe at this place: carved entirely of ice, this temple, with its translucent walls, filtered in sunlight, seemed to be glowing, alive. A quiet, empty structure, so high in the sky, it felt solemn, sacred. It was even colder in here, if possible, than outside, yet no one seemed to mind.

  A long walkway stretched before him, its floor made up of hammered swords, leading to a massive star-shaped altar at the far end of the temple, with a gleaming halberd perched at the top, like some sort of ornament to war. And kneeling before it, Duncan saw a dozen warriors, their backs to him, hands clasped. In the center of the group knelt a man larger than them all, the only one wearing red furs, with wild red hair, and a red beard. Even with his back to him, Duncan could recognize his old friend anywhere. Kavos. Their leader. A man famed to have killed more men in battle than anyone Duncan had ever met. A man whom Duncan had seen stand still when a lion pounced on his chest, knocking the creature back.

  Kavos had a mystique about him, and one that was justified. Duncan had personally witnessed him receive dozens of vicious wounds, yet he had never heard him cry out once. He did not know what stuff he was made of—he was just glad that they fought for the same side.

  Kavos, Duncan knew, was a difficult man to read even in the most simple of times—and these were not simple times. Unlike many leaders, whatever Kavos commanded his people followed religiously. There was no questioning, ever. And Kavos never changed his mind. Duncan knew he would only have one chance to convince him.

  As Duncan slowly crossed the temple, he felt a great sense of anticipation, knowing that everything would ride on this encounter, all of his efforts and journeys up until now, the very fate of his people. If Kavos refused to join them, the war, Duncan knew, would be lost. Escalon would be lost.

  He reached the end of the long aisle, and Duncan stopped and waited patiently behind Kavos and his men. He knew that Kavos was not a man to be rushed.

  Duncan examined the curious altar, the candles burning around it, and he wondered about the gods of Kos. They were no gods that he prayed to. These men were different, in all that they did, from the rest of Escalon, separatist enough to make Duncan wonder if they would ever really join his cause. All the way up here, with their own climate and culture and gods and city, they were, oddly, not even a part of Escalon—and they never had been.

  After a long silence, Kavos slowly rose and faced Duncan, all of his men standing with him on cue. Kavos stared back at Duncan, expressionless, his eyes dark and sunken, holding within them, surely, the memory of thousands of foes he had defeated in battle. He was as hard as these walls of ice, and he remained silent so long, Duncan did not think he would ever speak.

  Duncan then recalled that it was he who would have to begin. Unlike the rest of Escalon, it was the etiquette for the visitor to speak first.

  “What do you pray for?” Duncan asked. “Victory? Conquest? Glory?”

  Kavos stared back, silent for so long, Duncan wondered if he would ever respond. He began to wonder if he even remembered him.

  “If it is victory you pray for,” Duncan added, after a long silence, “you shall not find it here. Victory lies below. With me—with all of us—in ridding us of the invaders. In serving Escalon.”

  “The men of Kos serve no one,” Kavos replied, his voice deep, filled with finality, furrowing his brow. “Escalon least of all.”

  Duncan stared back, unsure how to respond.

  “The weak king betrayed us,” Kavos said, “and the men of Kos do not lend their loyalty to weak men—and we do not lend it twice.”

  Duncan understood his sentiment, having felt it many times himself.

  “Yet still,” Duncan countered, “it is Escalon in which you live—and the Pandesians block your mountains at the base. They have you surrounded.”

  Kavos smiled for the first time, his face bunching up with lines, a hardened smile, more like a scowl.

  “Have you ever considered that it is we who have them surrounded?” Kavos replied.

  Duncan frowned, frustrated, expecting that response.

  “You are untouchable up here,” Duncan admitted. “Yet no people are an island. Escalon is meant for all of us. You should be able to roam freely about this entire land which is yours, you and your men. If the trade routes were opened again, it would help your people.”

  Kavos shrugged, unimpressed.

  “There is no commodity we can’t live without,” he replied. “Honor is our most precious commodity. And we have it in abundance.”

  Duncan studied his old friend, having a sinking feeling he would be refused. He was as stubborn and implacable as he recalled.

  “Are we not all one Escalon?” Duncan finally asked, pleading to his sense of loyalty to the other warriors.

  Kavos sighed, his expression softening.

  “At one time we were,” he finally said. “When you and I rode forth and crushed skulls together. If you had taken the kingship, then yes, we would be. But now, we are nothing. We are each warlords scattered to the corners, each for his own stronghold, his own people. There is no king to bind us anymore, and no capital, except in name.”

  Kavos examined him, an intensity in his eyes, as he took a step closer.

  “Do you know why the Pandesians were able to invade?” he asked. “Not because of our weak king—but because of our weak nation. Because we are scattered. Because we were never one. We never had a king strong enough to truly unite us all.”

  Duncan felt a rush of determination, realizing the truth in this warrior’s words.

  “What if we have a chance to be?” Duncan asked, his voice filled with intensity. “What if we have a chance now, for all time, to become one people? One Escalon? One people under one banner? I do not know if we can ever be—but I do know that we shall continue to be nothing if we do not, as one nation, attack the strangers amongst us.”

  Kavos examined him for a long time.

  “One people needs one leader,” he countered. “Are you prepared to be that leader?”

  D
uncan’s heart pounded at the question, the one question he did not expect, and the one question he did not wish to ponder. Leadership was the last thing he craved; but he needed Kavos, and he needed Kos. He did not want to risk losing him.

  “Would you lend us your men? Would you join us?” Duncan countered.

  Kavos turned and walked silently toward the exit of the temple, Duncan following as his men gestured for him to do so. He walked beside him, wondering where they were going, wondering what he was thinking.

  Duncan was met by a cold breeze as they exited the temple from a side door, the wind howling here, atop the world. All of their men fell in together, mingling with each other, trailing behind them.

  As the two made their way across the plateau, Duncan wondered what this man was thinking. They finally came to a stop at the edge of a cliff, and as his friend looked out, Duncan looked out with him. Below them there unraveled all of Escalon, the late afternoon sun lighting up the snow-capped peaks and, in the distance, the immense capital city of Andros.

  A long, comfortable silence fell between the two warlords as they surveyed their homeland.

  “It would be madness to attack,” Duncan admitted. “After all, there are countless Pandesian garrisons below. We would be outnumbered ten men to one, at least. They have superior armor, weaponry, and have organized forces in every town in Escalon. They also still control the Southern Gate—and the seas. It would be suicide.”

  Kavos looked down below, nodding.

  “Keep talking,” he finally said. “You’re convincing me.”

  Duncan smiled.

  “I doubt we’ll win,” Duncan said. “But I vow to you that I shall not remain standing as long as any last Pandesian stands, as along as any Pandesian banner sits in our ground.”

  Kavos finally turned and studied him.

  “If we ride with you into battle,” Kavos said, “I will need you to vow something to me: the weak King shall not reclaim his throne. If we win, you, and you alone, shall rule Escalon.”