Iron Will

by James Maxwell

  ‘I believe so,’ the Oracle said. ‘All I know for certain is that four kings fought together on Sindara’s shore. There will be no more prophecies. The foundations have been laid, but peace will only come with hard work.’

  Chloe was silent for a while as she struggled to take it all in.

  ‘Am I dead?’ she finally asked.

  The Oracle smiled again. ‘See for yourself.’

  Chloe coughed.

  She opened her eyes and looked around. Dust swirled in the air, tiny particles that caught in her throat and danced around each other. She tried to move, but there was something on top of her chest. Her shoulders ached.

  She glanced down and saw that there was a shard of stone lying across her body. It was heavy, but her arms were free, and with a grunt of effort she was able to move it to the side. She sat up and probed at her stomach, wincing when she felt bruises, but relieved that no bones were broken.

  The cavern was dark, but she was able to see by the light of a multitude of crystal shards. They were everywhere, scattered in the midst of all the fallen stalactites. Even as she looked at the shards, their glow was fading. She realized she had to move quickly, before she was plunged into darkness.

  It only occurred to her then.

  She could see.

  She wasn’t blind anymore. The thought almost made her sob with relief, but she was desperate to get out of the cavern before the light faded. She climbed to her feet and looked for the exit.

  Chloe started.

  Zara’s dead eyes stared back at her. The sorceress was just a few feet away. An immense pillar lay across her chest. Her skin was marked by tiny red gashes from the shards of the jewel. She was as beautiful in death as she had been in life, but hers was a cold beauty. She didn’t look much different.

  Chloe tried to feel remorse for Zara, but it never came. Zara had been arrogant to think she could control forces she didn’t understand. Too many people were dead because of her.

  Turning away, Chloe stepped over the fallen stalactites and headed directly for the cavern’s exit. The glow of the shards began to fade as she left.

  She trailed a hand along the wall and kept her head low, but there was only one way out of the passage, and soon she was back in the place where the Oracle had foretold the future. The next tunnel was easier to follow, and after a time she saw light ahead.

  Fresh air caressed her skin as she emerged from the cave. She came to a halt, out in the open air, blinking in the bright light.

  Sunshine bathed the landscape. The terrain ahead was devoid of trees, the same as it always was, but this time there were no colorful fires burning without tinder on the rocky slopes. From where she stood the path paved with blue stone led down to a short wall and then the white sands of the little cove, where waves crashed against the shore.

  She inhaled, smelling sea salt and feeling the wind against her cheeks.

  Her vision had returned; she was able to see the beauty in front of her. With a start she realized something else. Her power was gone. It had simply . . . vanished. There was nothing there, nothing at all. With both jewels destroyed, one by her and the other by Liana, there was no more magic in the world.

  56

  Dion toured the battlefield, walking from one end to the other, on a day of both tragedy and triumph. The corpses of thousands of brave soldiers lay side by side on the ground. Nearly twenty eldren would never see the forests of their homeland again. Close to a hundred dragons lay dead. The same number of slaves from Malakai, driven close to insanity, sat on the sand and stared into the distance as they wondered what had happened to them.

  Yet the combined armies of the world had prevailed.

  Dion turned when he heard a voice. Kargan looked as proud as ever, walking with long strides on the sand. But he held his hands clasped together, as if to stop them from shaking.

  ‘You stood with us until the end,’ Dion said. ‘For that . . .’ – he put out his hand – ‘thank you.’

  Kargan shook his hand solemnly. ‘It is your name that will be remembered, King Dion.’ He nodded back toward the shore. ‘Come with me. I think you will want to see this.’

  Dion followed Kargan toward a group of soldiers standing in a crowd. Their backs were to him so that he couldn’t see what it was they were looking at. Kargan called out in a growl, and when they realized who it was, the crowd parted to make way for them.

  Past the crowd was a smaller group, made up of gray-robed sorcerers and pale-skinned warriors in chain mail. They had all sunk to one knee and had their eyes closed and heads bowed.

  In the center of the group, composed on the sand, was a dead man.

  He was tall in life and broad-shouldered. His dark hair was long and streaked with gray, and his beard had been fashioned into braids. At his belly his mail shirt was torn to reveal a deep gash. A second wound gaped just below his collarbone.

  Palemon, last king of Aleuthea, lay dead with his broadsword on his torso and his hands wrapped around the hilt. Dion walked forward until he stood beside the man who had been his enemy but had also saved his life. Palemon had captured Dion and forced him to do his bidding. He had tried to conquer the world.

  ‘That man knew how to fight,’ Kargan said, shaking his head. ‘Seems like a fitting end.’ He inclined his head. ‘Come.’

  Different emotions fought for supremacy as Dion followed Kargan away from the descendants of Aleuthea. Palemon had chosen to face up to what he had done. At the same time, Dion was glad he was dead. The realization struck him with force. That part of Dion’s life was over. He could let it go. The sensation of release was overwhelming.

  ‘What now?’ Dion asked, coming to a halt with Kargan on the shore.

  ‘Now?’ Kargan met his eyes. ‘Now, we return to our homes. And I know you might not value my word, King of Xanthos, but I will do what I can to help you rebuild.’

  ‘And Palemon’s people? If they return from across the sea?’

  Kargan shrugged. ‘He can have what he always wanted. His people’s claim to the Aleuthean Sea is older than mine. I’ll rescind my claim to Malakai.’ His face was somber. ‘There’s been enough fighting.’

  Kargan scratched his beard and gazed out to sea. He was pensive for a time; it looked like he was deciding whether to say something. He hesitated and then finally turned to Dion again. ‘A word of advice, King Dion. I have an empire, which is something more than a nation . . . In my opinion, something far greater. I have devoted my life to uniting different peoples. With flourishing trade, and with common laws, coinage, and systems of education, we help prosperity and peace along.’

  Kargan gazed back at the beach. The Ileans in the army were heading toward their waiting ships, leaving the soldiers in crimson, blue, and brown talking together.

  ‘These people of Galea fought for you,’ Kargan said. ‘Give them something great. Give them a future.’

  Dion tilted his head, wondering what Kargan was hinting at. His thoughts were interrupted when he saw a tall eldran approaching.

  ‘King Kargan,’ Dion said, ‘this is King Eiric of Sindara.’

  ‘Well met,’ Kargan said. He put out a hand, and Eiric took it.

  ‘I want to thank you,’ Eiric said. ‘If you hadn’t come when you did . . .’

  ‘Wait.’ Kargan frowned. ‘Zachary . . . He was your father. I was there when he died.’

  Eiric went completely still. His golden eyes became fixed completely on Kargan. ‘Please,’ he said sharply. He tried to gather himself, taking a breath. ‘Please,’ he implored, more softly this time, ‘tell me how.’

  ‘We were on Parnos. He died in his sleep, resting against a rock, staring toward the sea,’ Kargan said. ‘He died in peace.’

  Eiric’s eyes shone with tears. ‘He lived in peace also.’

  Dion left them to talk. He headed back to his men, and on the way passed a sorcerer. The gray-robed man was sitting cross-legged with his staff on his lap. He looked confused.

  ‘Magus,’ Dion sai
d, ‘can you tell me what happened?’

  The sorcerer looked up. ‘The magic,’ he whispered. ‘It’s gone.’

  57

  The immense leviathan drifted in the sea. Waves crashed over it, but its tail didn’t move. No breath came out of the gigantic nostrils at the front of its head. The eyes, as big as mirrored tabletops, gazed sightlessly.

  Kyphos sat on the slope where the eyes led to the serpent’s snout and took great shuddering breaths. He kept his back to the savage wound on top of the creature’s skull; he couldn’t look on the mess he’d made there. He had chipped away and hacked with his axe until his whole body was drenched in blood.

  He glanced down at the sea slinking up to his ankles. Reaching forward, he cupped his hands and splashed cool water against his face. Without conscious thought, he began to scrub, bringing up his hands again and again to wipe at the crust of red liquid already drying in the sun.

  After a time his arms were simply too tired to keep going. He looked longingly at the water, but he knew he couldn’t drink it. The effort to kill Marrix, his people’s ancient enemy, had taken its toll on his body. He fell backward and closed his eyes.

  Shouts woke him.

  He leaped up, wondering where he was. He thought he had only slept for a moment, but he saw in an instant that it was growing dark. He wondered if he had been dreaming, but then there was a great shout again, a chorus of hundreds of voices raised in unison.

  Kyphos climbed to his feet and shielded his eyes. He stared directly into the setting sun, seeing an expanse of blue sea that shimmered in the slanted light.

  A fleet of twelve ships was traveling toward him.

  They all had their oars out and were speeding through the water to reach him. Kyphos waved his arms, and the cheers grew louder. He watched as the fleet crossed the sun, and as the crimson orb sank into the horizon he could see every vessel clearly.

  Each ship was whole and undamaged. Men and women stood crammed side by side, holding onto the rails and cheering with arms raised in the air.

  Kyphos, a short, stocky man with a hunched back, waved back.

  He heard his name repeated again and again. The nearest ship came alongside the leviathan’s immense floating corpse. The passengers and crew stared down at the drifting body of the serpent and the gaping wound in its head. Slowly the cries died away. Awe and horror filled every single face.

  Kyphos recognized the first vessel to approach. The lettering on its side announced its name: Targus.

  A sailor tossed a rope down to him, and Kyphos deftly caught the end. He ran and leaped into the water, feeling it cool his skin the moment it swallowed his body. He tried to pull with his arms and kick with his legs, but it was the sailors who did most of the work. In the end he was hauled up the vessel’s side, shaking droplets from his bristling black hair. He put out a hand, and a brawny sailor hauled him up the final distance.

  He stood drenched on the deck. Strangely, the watching crowd went silent. They were looking at him expectantly. He supposed that they must want him to say something.

  ‘My people,’ Kyphos said. He lifted his chin, and made sure to meet all of their eyes. ‘Our great enemy, Marrix, who caused us to flee our homeland long ago, is dead.’

  The roar that greeted his words was louder than anything he had heard before. Men and women who had only ever known Necropolis hugged and laughed. Brave warriors wiped tears from their eyes. The cheers grew louder as they moved from vessel to vessel. Someone started to chant his name again, and the cry was instantly taken up.

  ‘Ky-phos! Ky-phos!’

  Kyphos felt a catch in his throat. He wondered if he should tell them the truth, that the wave of magical light had cast some spell over the great leviathan, as if summoning it from afar. Without that strange event, he would never have been able to kill it.

  He decided to let them have their joy. Marrix was dead, after all. Most of those on board the ships were going to a new land, a place they knew nothing about. Perhaps Marrix’s death might help them face the future without fear.

  58

  Cob stood alone on the edge of the valley. He spent all his time here, gazing up at the mountain trail that the army had taken, wondering if he would ever see Dion again.

  ‘Come on, old man,’ a voice said behind him. Turning, he saw Finn approaching with Roxana at his side. ‘At least eat something.’

  ‘Please, Cobrim,’ Roxana said.

  ‘I have to know,’ Cob said gruffly.

  He deliberately put his back to them. He knew that he shouldn’t be angry; they had only wanted to save him from himself. But he still felt in his heart that he had betrayed Dion . . . and Chloe . . . and all the people who had gone to fight. He should have gone with them.

  Finn came up to stand beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Listen, Cob. We will know soon enough.’

  Cob shook the hand free. He scowled and continued to gaze at the wide trail that led to the pass out of the valley. Roxana came up to stand on his other side. He ignored her and watched the trail. If anyone returned, they would come this way.

  ‘Leave me,’ Cob said. ‘I don’t want food. I’m fine where I am.’

  ‘At least let Sophia look at your shoulder,’ Roxana said.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Cob said. The truth was that it hurt him every time he shifted his injured arm, enough to make him gasp and freeze up until the pain began to subside. But he still could have fought.

  ‘Come on, Roxana,’ Finn said. ‘We know what he’s like when he’s in one of his moods.’

  Cob stared up at the mountains as their voices grew distant. He felt no temptation to go with them. He would stay here, in this place, until the world ended.

  His breath suddenly caught. He saw movement.

  He wasn’t sure at first, but then it was clear: a great number of people were walking down the trail toward the valley. He shielded his eyes and squinted. He saw soldiers in armor and some tall, lean figures who could only be eldren. More men in uniform were pouring down the trail. Cob’s heart squeezed, making him place his hand over it. The battle was over. But it wasn’t clear yet whether they were returning from victory or defeat.

  Cob turned quickly. His tight shoulder made him wince, but he shoved the pain aside. ‘Roxana! Finn!’

  His wife and Finn kept walking, side by side, back toward the encampment.

  Cob opened his mouth and bellowed. ‘Roxana! Finn!’

  First Roxana turned, and then Finn. They saw Cob waving his arm. He pointed with furious stabbing motions. The pair grabbed each other and began to run.

  Cob started to run himself, despite the fact every step made him grimace and he was encumbered by the sling holding his injured arm. He climbed the hillside toward the trail. For a time he weaved through the trees, and although he heard Finn and Roxana gasping behind, neither could catch up to him.

  He finally emerged from the trees and looked farther up the trail as he ran.

  Dion was walking toward him, surrounded by eldren and soldiers. He was at the front of the great army. Dion waved. He was smiling. Cob never stopped sprinting.

  He ran full tilt into the younger man.

  Everywhere people were on the move.

  The exiles of Galea dismantled their temporary homes in Sindara. Men, women, and children worked together, and soon it was as if the settlement had never been. When they were done, they gathered all the wood that had once formed rickety structures and built pyres. Every fallen soldier had two coins placed over his eyes and his body was placed on top of a wooden pile. The priests said prayers while the people held hands. King Dion of Xanthos, his eyes red but his bearing tall and proud, lit the fires one by one.

  Dion made a speech for the fallen, and then the people of Tanus returned to their city in the mountains. Before they left, representatives from Tanus asked Dion to visit as soon as he was able. They said they had a proposition for him.

  The citizens of Phalesia and Xanthos began their journey back to their homes. Onc
e more the strongest traveled overland in a long column, but this time relief gave way to joy with every step they took.

  Far away, in the south, Kargan, king of Ilea, led his fleet back to his capital, Lamara. He immediately issued a proclamation. There were no more dragons of any kind, anywhere in the world, and would never be again. The time of magic and warfare was over. An era of peace had begun.

  Everywhere, country and city folk returned to their homes. The deserted cities, towns, and villages became filled with life once more. The people of Koulis were not all dead – Lothar had evacuated them to the city of Abadihn in the east. The people of Sarsica had suffered some of the worst devastation, but even there, thousands of men, women, and children had hidden in the infamous smuggler’s caves.

  Then something incredible happened. Riders went out from Xanthos and Phalesia to search for survivors and announce to anyone they found that the danger was now over. They found entire communities living in the thick forests of the Wilds. The refugees who had fled to the cities were not the only ones to survive.

  The lands of Galea, by far the most affected by the terror, lived again.

  59

  Eiric stood on a lawn of green grass and stared down into the pool just a few inches from his bare feet. It was once glowing green, but now it was just a pool like any other.

  ‘Eiric,’ a soft, female voice called.

  He turned and saw Liana approaching. She tucked a lock of silver hair behind her ear. It was a habit of hers, and for some reason it always made him smile.

  Her green eyes met his. ‘Are you ready?’

  He reached out to take her hand. ‘Of course.’

  She led him away from the deep basin and down the long, winding canyon that was the only exit. The steep walls glistened with moisture and cast shade that gave pleasant relief from the fierce rays of the summer sun. With graceful steps, still holding Eiric’s hand, Liana followed a trickling stream to where the canyon took a sharp bend.

  Eiric was surprised when, rather than continue past the bend, Liana led him to a place where the rock walls parted slightly to reveal a passage, easily missed if one didn’t know it was there.