by Morgan Rice
*
Kyra and Dierdre burst out of the dungeon into the early light of dawn, finding themselves smack in the middle of Argos, the Pandesian stronghold and the Lord Governor’s military complex. Kyra blinked in the light, feeling so good to see daylight again, despite its being cold out here, and as she got her bearings she saw they were in the center of a rambling complex of stone keeps, all of it encased by a high stone wall and a massive gate. The Lord’s Men were still slowly waking up, beginning to take positions all around the barracks; there must have been thousands of them. It was a professional army, and this place was more a city than a town.
The soldiers took positions along the walls, looking out toward the horizon; none looked inward. Clearly none were expecting two girls to escape from within their midst, and that gave them an advantage. It was still dark enough, too, to help obscure them, and as Kyra looked ahead, to the well-guarded entrance at the far end of the courtyard, she knew that if they had any chance of escape, it was now.
But it was a long courtyard to cross on foot, and she knew they might not make it—and even if they did, once they ran through it, they would be caught.
“There!” Dierdre said, pointing.
Kyra looked and saw, on the other side of the courtyard, a horse, tied up, a soldier standing beside it, holding its reins, his back to them.
Dierdre turned to her.
“We’ll need a horse,” she said. “It’s the only way.”
Kyra nodded, surprised they were thinking the same way, and that Dierdre was so perceptive. Dierdre, whom Kyra had at first thought would be a liability, she was coming to see was actually smart, quick, and decisive.
“Can you do it?” Dierdre asked, looking at the soldier.
Kyra tightened her grip on her staff and nodded.
As one, they ran out from the shadows and silently across the courtyard, Kyra’s heart slamming in her chest as she focused on the soldier, his back to her, getting closer with each step—and praying they weren’t discovered in the meantime.
Kyra ran so fast she could barely breathe, willing herself not to slip in the snow, no longer feeling the cold as adrenaline pumped through her veins.
Finally she reached the soldier, and at the last second, he heard them and spun.
But Kyra was already in motion, raising her staff and jabbing him in the solar plexus. As he grunted and dropped to his knees, she swung it around and brought it down on the back of his head—knocking him face-first into the snow, unconscious.
Kyra mounted the horse while Dierdre untied it and jumped up behind her—and they both kicked and took off.
Kyra felt the cold wind through her hair as the horse charged across the snowy courtyard, heading for the gate at the far end, perhaps a hundred yards away. As they went, sleepy soldiers began to take notice, and to turn their way.
“Come on!” Kyra yelled to the horse, urging it faster, seeing the exit looming closer and closer.
A massive stone arch lay straight ahead, its portcullis raised, leading to a bridge, and beyond that, Kyra’s heart quickened to see, open land. Freedom.
She kicked the horse with all her might as she saw the soldiers at the exit taking notice.
“STOP THEM!” yelled a soldier from behind.
Several soldiers scurried to large iron cranks and, to Kyra’s dread, began to turn the cranks that lowered the portcullis. Kyra knew that if it closed before they reached it, their lives would be over. They were but twenty yards away and riding faster than she’d ever had—and yet the portcullis, thirty feet high, was lowering slowly, one foot at a time.
“Get as low as you can!” she shrieked to Dierdre, Kyra bending all the way over until her face was on the horse’s mane.
Kyra raced, heart pounding in her ears, as they charge through the arch, the portcullis lowering, so low that she had to duck. It was so close, she did not know if they would make it.
Then, just as she was sure they would die, their horse burst through, the portcullis slamming down right behind them with a great boom. A moment later they were across the bridge and, to Kyra’s immense relief, out under open sky.
Horns sounded behind them, and a moment later, Kyra flinched as she heard an arrow whiz by her head.
She glanced back and saw the Lord’s Men taking positions up and down the ramparts, firing at them. She zigzagged on the horse, realizing they were still within range, urging it faster.
They were making progress, perhaps a fifty yards out, far enough so most arrows fell short—when suddenly, to her horror, she watched an arrow land in their horse’s side. It immediately reared—throwing them both off.
Kyra’s world turned to chaos. She hit the ground hard, winded, as the horse rolled right next to her, luckily missing them by an inch.
Kyra knelt on her hands and knees, dazed, her head ringing, and looked over and saw Dierdre beside her. She glanced back and saw, in the distance, the portcullis being raised. Hundreds of soldiers were lined up, waiting, and as the portcullis opened, they tore out the gates. It was a full-scale army, on its way to kill them. She was confused as to how they could have assembled so quickly, but then she realized: they were already assembling, at dawn, to attack Volis.
Kyra, on foot, looked over at their dead horse, at the vast open plains before them, and she knew, finally, their time had come.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
