by Morgan Rice
The last time Aidan had been to the capital he had been too young to remember. He imagined himself entering it now, on the back of this wagon, dismounting and taking it all in, the greatest city in Escalon, a sight, he knew, which would not disappoint. He would enter it boldly, fearlessly, make his presence known and demand to know where his father was. He would be taken right to him, and would arrive as a welcome hero.
Aidan was disappointed his father did not have faith in him to let him know where he was going, to invite him along; he felt certain he could help his cause somehow. After all, he knew more about the great battles of history than most of his father’s men. Could he not counsel them on strategy, at least? Why did his father think one had to be a grown man to achieve great things? After all, hadn’t Nikor the Great conquered The Plains at fourteen? Hadn’t Carnald the Cruel taken the Western Half when he was but twelve? Of course, those were centuries ago, in another time and place. But Aidan refused to be discounted. He was still a great warrior’s son, even if the youngest and weakest of them.
Aidan was jostled as the horses hit a ditch, and as he banged his head in the carriage, he grunted involuntarily.
The carriage came to a sudden stop, and Aidan immediately slid down beneath the bales of hay, his heart thumping, terrified, praying he was not discovered. If he was kicked off this carriage, as far as he was from anything, he knew he could very well die out here.
Aidan peeked out and saw the driver, a heavyset, middle-aged man with broad shoulders and a bald spot on the back of his head, turn and peer back in the night, examining his carriage. He had a bulbous nose, wide jaws, a low forehead, and the look of a man who wanted to kill something.
Stupid, Aidan thought. Why didn’t you stay put? Why did you make a noise?
He lay there, in a cold sweat, praying he was not discovered. And as he waited in the night’s silence, he expected to hear the man jumping down, coming back and grabbing him.
A moment later, to Aidan’s surprise, he felt movement and heard the horses walking again. He was flooded with relief, and he thanked God he had the cover of darkness. He let out a deep breath, and vowed not to move again all the way until they reached Andros.
Hour followed hour, Aidan resting as comfortably as he could with the carriage jostling, and slowly he found himself drifting back towards sleep. His eyes heavy, he was nearly dreaming again—when suddenly he felt something moving against his leg.
Aidan lay there, frozen in fear, wondering. It moved again. Something was in there, in the hay, with him. Something alive. Could it be a snake had found its way into the hay?
Aidan knew he should stay still, but he couldn’t help it. He slowly lifted the hay, just enough to see—and he saw a sight that he would never forget. There, beneath the hay, were several dead animals—a dead deer, three dead fox, and a dead boar, all bound by their paws, bound together with coarse twine. Yet that was not what stunned him; there was one other animal, bound to them, too, that lay there, bloody, wounded: a small dog. Aidan was even more stunned to see it move its paw.
It was no ordinary dog, Aidan could see right away, but a Wood Dog, a wild breed that lived in the woods, nearly twice the size of a normal dog and rumored to be a fierce animal. This one had a white coat, short hair, a thick muscular body, a long, narrow jaw, and piercing, soulful green eyes which stared up helplessly at Aidan. It lay on its side, breathing hard, clearly in pain, moving its paw limply. It was, Aidan was pained to see, dying. Aidan saw the gash across the animal’s leg and saw it look at him with a look of desperation. It was a plea for help.
Aidan’s heart broke. There was nothing he hated to see more than a wounded animal. He immediately recalled the banner of his house, a knight holding a wolf, and he knew it was also his family’s sacred obligation to save any animal in need. Obligation or not, he could not let any animal suffer.
Aidan recalled that Wood Dogs, despite their tame appearance, were even more dangerous than wolves. He had been cautioned not to go near one. And yet as Aidan studied it, he did not sense it wished to harm him; on the contrary, he felt a connection to this animal. He burned with anger that it had been treated this way, and he knew he could not let it die.
Aidan sat there, torn up inside. He knew that if he tried to free it, or help it, he would be discovered. That would mean his being abandoned here in the middle of this wood—which, in turn, would mean death. The cost of saving this creature would be high—it would be his own life. And for a dying animal.
Yet Aidan didn’t care. What mattered most to him was doing the right thing.
Aidan crawled through the hay, trying to stay low, reached over, and stroked the dog’s fur. He expected it to bite him, given what he knew about the breed, but he was shocked to see the dog, perhaps because it was wounded, whine and lick his hand.
“Shhh,” Aidan tried to soothe him. “You’ll be okay.” Aidan examined its white hide, and said, “I shall call you White.”
White whined, as if in approval.
Aidan glanced up, relieved the driver had not spotted him, and examined White’s wound. He tore a strip off his tunic and wrapped it around the dog’s leg, and as it did, White whined louder. Aidan quickly pulled a piece of dried meat from his sack and placed it in his mouth, trying to quiet him.
White chewed weakly, his eyes half closed, and Aidan sensed he was very weak. He seemed to be gravely injured, and Aidan wondered if he would live.
Yet after he swallowed it, to Aidan’s surprise, White opened his eyes wide and appeared to have a burst of energy. He looked directly at Aidan with a grateful look, and Aidan felt they were bonded for life. Aidan knew he could not walk away from this animal—whatever the cost. He had to free it.
Aidan removed his small dagger from his belt and quickly severed the ropes binding White’s paws, and a moment later, he was free.
White sat up and looked at Aidan with what appeared to be a look of surprise. He began to wag his tail.
“Shhhh,” Aidan said, “don’t move. Or we shall both be discovered.”
But White was too excited—and Aidan could not control him as he burst to his feet, sending hay everywhere in a big commotion. Aidan’s heart stopped, knowing they would be discovered.
Sure enough, a moment later the carriage came to a jolting stop, slamming Aidan’s head on the wood rail. Hardly had the horses stopped when the driver jumped down and came running around the back.
Aidan saw an angry man standing there, hands on his hips, scowling down at them both. He appeared surprised to see the dog alive, more surprised to see him free, and furious to see Aidan sitting there.
“Who are you, boy?” the man demanded. “And what are you doing on my cart?” The man then scowled at the dog. “And what have you done with my kill?”
“I have freed him,” Aidan said back proudly, standing, chest out, an indignant feeling overtaking him and giving him courage. “He is a beautiful animal you tried to kill. Shame on you.”
The man fumed, turning bright red, visible even beneath the starlight.
“How dare you talk back to me, you insolent little boy!” the man said. “That is my game to do with as I wish!”
“He is not!” Aidan “He is a dog! And he is free now!”
“Free, is he!?” the man spat, apoplectic, taking a threatening step forward.
But Aidan felt an unfamiliar strength overcoming him as he thought of saving the dog. He knew he was in a precarious position, and he realized he needed to make his best effort to scare this man away once and for all.
“My father is warlord of Volis!” Aidan stated firmly, proudly. “He has a thousand men at his command. If you lay a hand on me, or on this creature, I shall have you imprisoned!”
The man huffed, and Aidan was disappointed to see he was unimpressed.
“Stupid little boy. Do you really think I care who your father is?” the man shot back. “You are in my cart. And that is my game. I am going to kill him—and when I’m done I’m going to give you a proper
pounding.”
The man rushed forward, raised his fist, and before Aidan could react, he brought it down quickly on the dog’s skull.
Aidan was horrified to watch White yelp and slide backwards, off the cart, landing on the frozen ground with a thud.
The man reached up to punch the dog again, death in his eyes, and this time, Aidan reacted without thinking. He held out his dagger and lunged forward, and before the man could hit White, he sliced the man’s armpit.
The man shrieked, stumbling back, grabbing his armpit, dripping blood. He slowly turned and scowled at Aidan, death in his eyes.
“You’re a dead boy now,” he said darkly.
The man lunged forward, too quick for Aidan to react, grabbed Aidan’s wrist, shook the dagger from it, then grabbed him from behind and threw him.
Aidan felt himself go flying through the air, off the cart. He landed face-first in the mud, winded, pain rippling through his body.
Aidan tried to scramble to his knees, but before he could, the man rushed forward and kicked him in the ribs with his huge boot.
Aidan had never felt such pain his life, feeling as if all his ribs were cracking as he rolled in the mud. Before he could catch his breath, he felt rough hands grabbing him as he was hoisted into the air.
“Stupid,” the man said. “To risk your life for a dog—and a dead one at that.”
He threw him, and Aidan, airborne, hit the ground, tumbling, harder than before, seeing stars, unable to breathe.
Aidan turned on his back, groaning, and looked up. He saw the man step forward, raise his boot, aim it for his face, and he could see from the look in his eyes that this man was evil, a cruel man, a heartless man. He would be good to his word: he would kill Aidan. And Aidan would die out here in the woods, alone, far from everyone, on this black and cold night—and not a soul would ever know.
His trip to see his father had come to an abrupt end.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Kyra tumbled end over end in the gushing rapids of the River Tanis, trying to catch her breath as the icy water pierced her bones. It was the coldest water of her life—yet it was not the cold that bothered her, or even the pain as she slammed into rocks, bouncing off them like a twig. Nor was it fear for her own well-being. What upset her most was her regret over Andor, leaving him behind, being able to reach him, to save him—while he made a heroic stand against those hornhogs, while sacrificing his own life for hers. She had never encountered an animal more noble, more fearless. The idea of abandoning him while he fought her battles was too much for her. Even while tumbling, she fought against the current with all she had, desperate to make it back to him.
But she just could not. The current gushed and carried her downriver with a tremendous force, and she could barely stay afloat, much less swim backwards. She knew, with a pain in her heart, that Andor was gone forever.
Kyra suddenly slammed against a rock and this time, weakened, reeling from the pain, she felt herself begin to submerge. She felt herself sinking lower and lower, dragged down by the currents, and unable to stop it. She looked up and saw the sunlight from the surface becoming more faint, and a part of her, overcome with remorse, did not want to go on. The quest to Ur felt insurmountable, so many obstacles at every turn, a land so filled with cruelty and inhospitality—and Ur still so far away.
Yet as Kyra looked up she saw shadows, saw the outline of her raft, and she remembered Leo and Dierdre. If she let herself die here, those two would be left alone, floating away into danger themselves—and she could not allow that to happen. She had to live, if not for herself, then for them. And for her father, and for Aidan. For all those who cared about her. Regret was a terrible thing, but life had to go on. She could simply not allow herself to be swallowed by guilt and remorse. It was selfish. Other people needed her.
Kyra snapped out of it, and with one great kick she swam back up, towards the surface, overcoming her pain, her exhaustion, the biting cold. She kicked again and again, fought back against the currents, clawing at the icy water with her hands. She felt as if her lungs were going to burst, each kick bringing her closer and yet each taking an effort she did not know if she had.
Finally, with her last ounce of strength, Kyra broke through the surface. She gasped as she flailed in the currents, pushed downriver, but this time, managed to stay afloat as she tread water.
“Kyra!” cried a voice.
Kyra looked over to see the raft floating toward her, Dierdre holding out a hand and Leo barking at its edge. Kyra swam for it, kicking, and as the current spun the raft in her direction, she reached out and just managed to grab Dierdre’s hand. Dierdre’s hand was surprisingly strong for a frail girl, clearly determined to save her friend, and with one big yank, Kyra found herself back on board, lying on her stomach, wet and shivering.
Kyra rolled onto her stomach and spit out water, gasping for breath, shaking from the cold, numb. Leo licked her, and she got to her hands and knees and she turned and looked back upriver, searching for Andor on the horizon.
But, she was dismayed to see, the river had twisted and turned and she could no longer see beyond the bends of the river. Andor was nowhere in sight.
Kyra closed her eyes and tried not to picture those hornhogs encircling her friend and tearing him to pieces. She felt pained at the thought.
Kyra felt another lick on her face, and she turned to see Leo, whining, nudging his face up against hers, and she hugged and kissed him back. She looked up and clasped Dierdre’s hand, pulling herself to a sitting position.
“Thank you,” she said to Dierdre, meaning it.
Kyra brushed water from her eyes and felt a warmth around her shoulders, and she looked over to see Dierdre had taken off her own furs and draped them over her shoulders.
“I can’t take this from you,” Kyra said, trying to remove them.
Dierdre shook her head.
“You need it more than I do.”
Kyra clutched the furs, shaking, desperate for its warmth, and she slowly felt herself drying off, returning to normal. The currents calmed, now bringing them downriver at a slow and gentle drift, and the Tanis widened here, too, finally free of boulders. Kyra looked out before her, saw smooth waters ahead as far as she could see, and finally she took a deep breath and relaxed.
“The Tanis winds toward Ur,” Dierdre said. “It won’t bring us all the way, but within a day’s hike. We can make the final leg on land.”
“How do we know when to get off?” Kyra asked.
“Don’t worry,” Dierdre said. “I’ll know. I am from here, remember? It’s not for a while, anyway—we must still cross much of Escalon. You can rest easy now—the worst stretch is behind us.”
Kyra did not need to be told twice. She was too exhausted to ponder it. She knew she should think about their provisions, should take stock of what weapons she had, should examine everyone’s wounds. But she was just too tired.
Kyra leaned back, wrapped in her furs, and lay her head on the raft, just for a moment. She looked up at the sky, and high up she saw passing scarlet clouds, drifting by. She heard the trickling beneath her—and it was all deeply relaxing.
Kyra, eyes heavy, told herself she’d only close her eyes for a moment—but before she knew it, overcome with exhaustion, she felt her eyes closing on her, and moments later she found herself, drifting downriver, fast asleep.
*
Kyra stared into the glowing, yellow eyes of a dragon, each as large as her, and was completely hypnotized. It flew down from the sky and swooped right for her, its wings spread wide, its ancient, scarlet scales aglow, its talons hanging low as if to pick her up. She lay there, immobile, on her raft, floating downriver, watching it descend.
Theos, she called out in her mind, recognizing him, so relieved to see him again. Where did you go? Why did you leave me? Why did you come back?
Kyra heard his response, his ancient voice reverberating in her mind, shaking her entire world.
I’ve come for my child.<
br />
Kyra could hardly believe his words. His child? What could that mean?
She stared back, her heart racing, desperate to know.
“Child?” she asked.
But Theos did not respond; instead, he flew lower and lower, his talons approaching as if they might tear her to pieces.
As Kyra felt the great wind of his approach, she did not brace herself—rather, she awaited it eagerly. She wanted more than anything to be scooped up by him, to be carried away, to understand who he was, to understand who she was.
But as quickly as he had descended, Theos suddenly rose back up in the sky, just missing her, flying higher and higher. She craned her neck and watched him go, flapping his great wings as he disappeared into a cloud, screeching.
Kyra opened her eyes with a start. She felt something cold and wet on her face, and she looked over to see Leo lying by her side, licking her face, looking at her with his soulful eyes—and she remembered.
Kyra sat up at once, feeling the boat moving beneath her, swaying gently, and she looked about, stroking Leo’s head. She craned her neck and searched the skies, looking for a sign of Theos, listening for his cry, hoping it was not just a dream.
But she saw and heard nothing.
Kyra was confused. It had seemed so real. Was it just a dream? Or had it been something more?
Kyra looked over and saw Dierdre, sitting on the raft beside her, looking out at the waters of the Tanis, steering them along, steady and smooth. She was surprised to realize how much time had passed—it had been morning when she’d fallen asleep, and now the sky was darker, aglow with amber and orange, clearly late in the day. She sat there, rubbing her eyes, so disoriented, hardly believing she had slept most of the day. She felt as if her dream of the dragon had transported her to another realm.
“Have I slept all this time?” she asked.
Dierdre turned to her and smiled.
“You needed it. You kept speaking in your sleep…something about a dragon. Something about an egg.”
