by Morgan Rice
“All of us will now be slaughtered, all because of your impetuous actions!” he called.
“And all this without our authority!” shouted out another noble, a man Duncan did not recognize, wearing the colors of the northwest.
“You will surrender at once!” called Bant. “You will approach the Pandesian lords, you will lay down your arms, and you will beg their forgiveness on behalf of us all.”
Duncan fumed at these cowards’ words.
“You all disgust me,” Duncan replied, enunciating each word. “I am ashamed that I fought for your freedom.”
A heavy silence filled the room, none daring to respond.
“If you do not surrender at once,” Bant finally called out, “then we shall do it for you. We shall not die for your recklessness.”
Kavos stepped forward and drew his sword, the sound reverberating in the room, heightening the tension, Bramthos standing close beside him.
“No one is surrendering,” he said, his voice cold and hard. “Come close, and the only thing you will surrender to is the tip of my sword.”
The tension in the room reached a fever pitch, both sides in a tense standoff, until finally Tarnis, the old King, stepped forward and laid his hand gently on Kavos’s blade. He smiled, the smile of a professional politician.
“There is no need for division here,” he said, his voice soft, reassuring. “We are all men of Escalon, all men who would fight and die for the same cause. We all desire freedom. Freedom for ourselves, for our families, for our cities.”
Slowly, Kavos lowered his sword, yet he still stared coldly across the table at Bant.
Tarnis sighed.
“Duncan,” Tarnis said, “you have always been a faithful soldier and a true friend. I understand your desire for freedom; we all share it ourselves. But sometimes brute force is not the way. After all, consider your actions. You have liberated the northeast, and even managed to win the capital, for now at least. For that I commend you. We all commend you,” he said, turning to the room with a wave of his hand, as if speaking for all of them. He turned back to Duncan and rested his eyes upon his. “And yet you have also now left us vulnerable to attack. An attack we cannot possibly fend off. Not you, not even with all your men, and not all of Escalon.”
“Freedom has a price,” Duncan replied. “Yes, some men shall die. But we will be free. We shall kill all remaining Pandesians before they have a chance to regroup, and within a fortnight, all of Escalon will be ours.”
“And even if?” Tarnis countered. “Even if you manage to rid our land of them before they rally? Reason with me. Will they not just invade through the open Southern Gate?”
Duncan nodded to Anvin, who nodded back.
“My men prepare even now to ride for the south and secure the gate.”
The politicians grumbled with surprise, and he could see the surprise in Tarnis’s eyes, too.
“And even if they secure it? Will Pandesia not storm the Southern Gate with a million men? And even if they lose those million men, can they not replace them with a million more?”
“With the gate in our hands, no force can take it,” Duncan replied.
“I do not agree with you,” Tarnis replied. “This is why I surrendered Escalon.”
“The Southern Gate has never been destroyed,” Duncan countered.
“And never has Escalon faced an army the size of Pandesia. It has never been tested,” Tarnis said.
“Precisely,” Duncan replied. “You don’t know that we’ll lose. And yet you surrendered us anyway.”
“And you my friend,” Tarnis replied, “don’t know that we can win. Who I the more reckless of us two?”
“And what of Ur?” called out a noble. “Shall you secure its beaches with your skeleton force when the Sorrow turns black with Pandesian fleets?”
“Not my force alone,” Duncan replied. “But all our men, together. Are we not all one Escalon?”
The men grumbled amongst each other, and most shook their heads and looked away in fear.
“We cannot defeat Pandesia,” one lord called out. “No matter how well we fight.”
“Escalon stood free for thousands of years,” Duncan replied. “Are we less worthy than our ancestors?”
“No,” called out another. “But Pandesia is stronger. It was not then what it is now.”
As the room became filled with arguing, finally, Tarnis raised a hand, and silence fell. Duncan was surprised to see the old King still had such a command over his men.
“We cannot win,” he said softly, conclusively. “And a life of servitude, a life of paying homage, is better than no life at all.”
Duncan shook his head.
“A life of servitude,” he replied, “is no life at all.”
Tarnis sighed, at a stalemate, and the room fell silent. All looked to him, Tarnis still projecting an air of authority.
“You allow your warrior’s honor and courage to guide you,” Tarnis finally said. “It is commendable—but not practical. You are a warrior; you are no King, with a land to worry over. You would fight to the death, as if your livelihood; we, on the other hand, fight for survival. Escalon is indefensible against an army of that size.”
“You underestimate us,” Duncan replied. “We have other weapons.”
In the back of his mind, he had to admit, he thought of Kyra, of her dragon.
“I have heard of your dragon,” Tarnis replied, staring back at him as if reading his mind; he had always had that uncanny ability. “And of your daughter. Is this of whom you speak?”
Duncan remained silent.
“I’ll have you know,” Tarnis continued, “that the dragon you depend on has turned its wrath upon our people. Reports have flooded in of villages scorched to the north.”
Duncan’s heart fell at his words, shocked. In the back of his mind he had been hoping the dragon might come to their aid, and the news floored him.
Tarnis reached out and placed a hand on Duncan’s shoulder.
“You see, old friend,” Tarnis continued softly, his voice filled with compassion, “we are left with just our shields and our swords. We cannot possibly fend off Pandesia, however much your honor would like it. Our best hope, our only hope, is to reason with them. To compromise. To surrender and lay down our arms. To protect and save what we have.”
He sighed.
“This is why we cannot join you,” he continued. “And this is why you must surrender. Ask for mercy. They are an understanding nation. They will understand. I will use my influence to help them understand, and let you live.”
Duncan grimaced back, stung by his words, losing any remaining respect he’d had for this man he once loved. He reached up and pushed Tarnis’s hand off his shoulder.
“You mistake me,” Duncan replied, his voice hard, official. “It was not a request.” He turned and looked out at all the men in the room. “It is a command. We are liberating Escalon, with or without you. We shall fight at dawn, as one nation, and you shall join us. If you do not, you will each be imprisoned or killed. If you hinder us in any way, you will be imprisoned or killed. I did not start this war, but I will end it.”
A long, heavy silence followed, until finally Bant stepped forward.
“You have but a few thousand men at your command,” he said, his voice equally defiant, determined. “I have twice as many in Baris, and we can summon many more. Attempt violence against us, and your situation will go from bad to desperate.”
Duncan stared back, unwavering.
“As you say,” Duncan replied. “Your men are in Baris—mine are here. You will not leave this room with your head on your shoulders if you intend to rally your men against us. The choice is yours.”
The silence thickened as Bant looked about the room, seeing all of Duncan’s men, uncertainty crossing his face.
“Consider, then, the King’s guard,” Tarnis stepped forward. “Thousands of fine soldiers stand strong here in the capital, all at my command. They answer only to t
he King. They will not join you. And if you threaten our men, they will stand in your way.”
“True,” Duncan replied. “They answer only to the King. And you are no longer that King.”
For the first time, Tarnis’s carefully composed face fell, as the room let out an astonished gasp.
“I am sorry, Tarnis,” Duncan continued, “but you forfeited your kingship the day you surrendered Escalon. You are just an old man now; you have no authority here.”
“Then who has authority as King, then?” Tarnis replied, mockingly. “You?”
“Yes,” Duncan replied flatly.
An agitated grumbling filled the room, as Tarnis scoffed.
“And who named you King?” Bant called out.
“You have no right to the kingship!” a noble yelled.
They all grumbled, and Duncan faced them all bravely.
“I freed Escalon,” Duncan replied. “I freed the capital. I started the revolt which all of you were afraid to. I have risked my life, and you have risked nothing. Is it you, then, who should hold power?”
The room fell quiet as he looked each one in the face.
“I seek no power,” Duncan continued. “I seek only the freedom and unity of Escalon. And if I must be the vehicle, then so be it.”
Tarnis shook his head in disapproval.
“No matter what you say,” Tarnis replied, “the King’s Guard will not answer to you. Not while I am King.”
“He is right,” Kavos interjected. “The Guard will not recognize two kings—no one will. Which is why you must kill him.”
An outraged gasp spread across the room, and Duncan felt his stomach in knots as he faced Kavos.
“You vowed,” Kavos reminded. “Now is your time to honor that vow.”
Duncan contemplated Kavos’s words. He had not wanted it to come to this, however little respect he had for Tarnis. He saw Tarnis’s horrified look, and his feeling of anguish deepened. For the first time, Tanis stared back with a look of real fear. A long, tense silence ensued as all eyes turned to Duncan.
Duncan looked for a long time at the old King, debating, remembering all the years he had served him. He knew Kavos was right. He knew Tarnis should be killed.
Yet, finally, he shook his head.
“I shall not kill you,” he said, his voice heavy, he already hating ruling. “But I cannot leave you free to roam the capital either. You shall be detained, and kept under watch.”
Kavos turned to him, outraged.
“You vowed to kill him!” Kavos insisted.
Duncan shook his head.
“I vowed to assume power, and that I shall do,” Duncan replied.
“You cannot have one without the other,” Kavos countered.
Duncan stood firm.
“I shall not be cruel, or merciless. He is no threat to any of us.”
Duncan turned to his men.
“Take him under guard,” he commanded.
Several of his men rushed forward and detained Tarnis while the nobles watched, looks of panic and outrage across their faces as he was dragged out of the chamber.
A tense silence fell, and Duncan set his sights on Bant.
“I do not wish to kill you or your men. Join us. Let us fight as one—not fight each other.”
Another long silence fell, a silence which did not seem to ever end. Finally, Duncan knew he had to do something to break that silence. Slowly, he crossed the room, circling the table, his men following, other men giving way, their armor clanging in the room, until finally he stopped before Bant. He disliked the man as much as anyone, and yet he knew he was king now, and he needed to do what a king would do. He had to make peace with his enemy, to unify his countrymen. If Bant followed, he knew, the others would, as would the King’s Guard.
“You can kill me,” Bant said, facing Duncan, “and you can kill my men. But you won’t take Escalon without us.”
“True,” Duncan replied. “Which is why you must join us. You leave me with no choice but to kill you if you stand in our way. There is no turning back for us, and I want you by our side.”
Duncan took a chance: he reached out in the silence, extending a hand. He looked Bant in the eye, waiting.
An impossibly long silence followed, until finally, Bant reached out and clasped arms with him, nodding back with a look of respect.
In that clasp, Duncan knew, the fate of Escalon had been sealed. He felt a rush of relief.
He smiled and turned to the room, and a small cheer followed.
“Tonight,” he called out to the men, “we feast. And at dawn, we ride to victory!”
CHAPTER TEN
Vesuvius flailed as he plummeted toward the cave’s rock floor, landing with a thud, feeling as if all his bones were breaking on impact. He lay there, limp, helpless to do anything but watch the devastation all around him. He saw the beast towering above him, stepping forward, making the ground shake, swiping his great hands and killing a dozen trolls at once. Trolls flew every which way across the tunnel, smashing into walls, and when he tired of swiping them, the giant lifted his great foot and flattened those who ran, crushing them into the ground.
The giant turned and Vesuvius’s heart leapt as he saw it set its sights on him. It roared, showing sharpened teeth, then raised a foot and came down right for Vesuvius’s head. Vesuvius knew that in but a moment he would be crushed to death.
Vesuvius somehow managed to muster whatever strength he had left and roll out of the way, as the giant’s foot sank into the earth beside him, creating a crater dozens of feet deep. The giant, enraged, raised its other foot, and Vesuvius knew he had to think quick or else die here in this tunnel along with all of his other trolls.
Vesuvius searched his surroundings frantically and noticed something gleaming in the sunlight. He saw one of the long pikes lying there, abandoned by one of his trolls who lay beside it, dead, and he knew it was his only chance. He scrambled to his feet and ran, ducking under the giant’s other foot as it came down and missed. He scurried across the cave and grabbed the pike, spun around, and charged. He raised it high with both hands and aimed for the giant’s Achilles’ heel, the narrowest point of the beast’s body.
Vesuvius turned the pike and swung it sideways, aiming for the narrowest point, and prayed the beast did not raise its foot before he could complete the blow.
Vesuvius was surprised to feel the pike actually enter the creature’s flesh; he drove it all the way through from one side of the beast’s heel to the other, and he was surprised to see it emerge from the other side as blood gushed everywhere. It was a perfect strike.
The tunnel shook as the beast roared in pain, raised his foot, and stomped, creating another crater, sending Vesuvius stumbling as it barely missed. It then dropped to one knee, clearly in agony, unable to stand. It turned its head and screeched, looking everywhere for Vesuvius, off balance, reeling from the blow.
“THE PIKES!” Vesuvius shouted to his trolls.
His remaining trolls rushed forward and grabbed pikes as he led the charge. As the beast knelt there, its head lowered, Vesuvius jammed another pike into the back of the giant’s neck. Beside him his trolls did the same, stabbing the beast in the neck and chin and face and shoulders.
The giant roared in agony and frustration; it reached up, grabbed the pikes, and yanked them out, snapping them in half as he gushed blood. It swiped back, killing several of Vesuvius’s men, and Vesuvius narrowly missed being killed.
Knowing he needed a decisive blow, he grabbed another pike, rushed forward and this time swung upwards, beneath its chin, into its throat.
The giant flailed, reaching for the pike, but clearly weaker, gushing blood, unable to pull it out. It stumbled in agony, blind with fury, flailing its fists and smashing rock in every direction. Huge boulders and chunks of rock fell from the walls and crushed several of Vesuvius’s trolls. A boulder fell on Vesuvius’s foot, and Vesuvius shrieked as it felt as if it had broken his foot.
But the giant, hurt bad
ly, this time fell to both knees, lowering his head to the ground. Vesuvius rushed forward, the rest of his trolls too scared to approach, and knew this was his final chance. In one last, mad dash, he grabbed an abandoned pike, raised it high overhead, let out a great shriek, and brought it down on the back of the beast’s exposed neck. He brought it down with everything he had, driving it down with both hands, and as he did he felt it lodging deep into the beast’s brain.
The beast slumped silently; then its eyes began to close as its great body went limp. It fell to the side, crushing several more trolls as it did, then lay there, unmoving.
Dead.
Vesuvius stood there, gasping, and surveyed the damage. There before him lay the dead giant, hundreds of dead trolls, piles of rubble, dust swirling in the air. He could hardly believe it. It was over.
Vesuvius heard a commotion and he looked out, past the settling clouds of dust, and in the distance, he saw hundreds more of his trolls arrive. Here came his nation of trolls, ready to follow him, ready to invade. Knowing they needed his leadership, he forced himself to his feet, despite his pain, wiped the blood from his mouth, and turned and looked up. There, at the top of the tunnel, was the sunlight, shining down amidst the dust and rubble. All was silent. The dragon was gone.
Escalon awaited him.
“NATION OF MARDA!” he shrieked to his army. “ATTACK!”
In the tunnel there echoed the shouts of thousands, all raising their halberds high, rushing forward, a nation ready to invade, to instill their bloodlust and violence on anyone and anything that stood in their path. All ready to rip Escalon to shreds.
*
Vesuvius sprinted through the open countryside of Escalon, his army behind him, beneath him the ground of Escalon, frozen snow and ice crunching beneath his feet, and it felt surreal. Here he was, breathing Escalon’s air, feeling its wind, actually south of The Flames, in the land he had always dreamed of. It was a feeling he never thought he’d have. All those humans of Escalon, protected by The Flames, who thought they were so superior to the nation of Marda, had thought they were safe, untouchable. They had underestimated him. Everyone had underestimated him.
