Rise Of The Valiant (Book 2)

by Morgan Rice

  “Pandesians are everywhere,” Marco said. “Stay here, and we shall be captured, sent back to The Flames. We must make it to Ur, and quickly.”

  As his friend spoke the words, they resonated within him. Alec was ready, ready for the first day of the rest of his life: a life of vengeance. Doing for his brother what Ashton could not do for himself.

  “I am ready,” Alec replied.

  The two of them turned and began to march back through his village. They began the long hike into the plains, heading south and west, their backs to the rising sun, on their way for death, for vengeance, and for the city of Ur.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Kyra sprinted down the forest path, Dierdre and Leo beside her, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she chased after the Pandesian carriage. It turned and disappeared from view, and she increased her speed, lungs burning, determined not to lose it. There were girls trapped in there, girls like her, girls being shipped off to an awful life, as she nearly had been. No matter what the cost, she could not sit by and allow that.

  She rounded the bend Kyra and was thrilled to spot the carriages, slowed by a muddy stretch of road, and she increased her pace. As she bore down on them, the reality sank in of what she was doing, of how reckless this was; she knew they could not kill all of these professional soldiers, and that they would likely be captured or killed by them. Yet the strangest thing happened to her. For some reason, Kyra felt her fear dissolving. In its place, she felt a rush of adrenaline, felt a great sense of purpose, and she did not think of herself, but only of these girls. She imagined the battle to come and she felt comfortable that, no matter what happened, even if she should die here on this day, her cause was true.

  Kyra glanced over at Dierdre, running beside her, and she could see the fear in her friend’s face. Dierdre seemed unsure what to do.

  “Make for the wood line and circle around, behind them,” Kyra commanded her. “On my signal, attack them from behind.”

  “Attack them with what?” Dierdre called back, her voice filled with fear.

  Kyra realized her friend was weaponless, and she studied the soldiers on the back of the carriage, and singled out the ones with tall spears, riding closer to the wood line, and she came to a decision.

  “We’ll use their weapons against them,” she said. “On my signal, you shall unlock the carriages and free the girls. I shall aim for the men with the spears, and when they drop, you shall gather one for yourself. Go!”

  Dierdre veered off into the wood line, leaving Kyra and Leo alone on the road. Kyra, about twenty yards away, was close enough now to be in range with her arrows and she stopped in the muddy path, took aim, and released her first arrow, aiming for a particularly large soldier on the last carriage, who appeared to be their leader. He sat high up on the carriage, whipping the horses, and Kyra knew if she could take him out, the carriage would lose control, and all would be chaos. She aimed high, taking into account the wind, and aimed for his back.

  Kyra released, feeling all the tension leaving her body, and she watched breathlessly as the fateful arrow sailed through the air, whistling. She held her breath, as she always did, praying it did not miss.

  It hit its target, and she felt a flood of relief as she saw it was a perfect shot. The soldier cried out and slumped over and tumbled down, the carriage immediately veering, directionless, until it smashed into a tree—sending several soldiers falling off of it, into the mud.

  Before the stunned soldiers could regroup, Kyra planted and fired again, this time aiming for the other carriage driver. The arrow landed in the back of his shoulder, sending him flying off the carriage and sending his carriage, filled with the girls, keeling over on its side. There came the shouts of the girls, along with the cries of two Pandesian soldiers crushed by the weight of it. Kyra hoped she had not hurt the captives.

  Kyra felt a thrill of satisfaction: two shots, and both carriages were stopped, and four Pandesian men down. She quickly took stock and realized that left her ten soldiers to reckon with.

  The remaining soldiers began to collect themselves, looking about the woods in every direction, clearly wondering who was attacking them. One of them looked back and noticed Kyra, and he turned and shouted to the others.

  As they turned her way, she dropped two more.

  That left eight. The remaining soldiers, now keen to her presence, raised their shields and crouched low as Kyra continued to fire. These men were professionals, though, and she was unable to find room for an open shot. One soldier stood, took aim and hurled his spear—and she was surprised at his speed and strength. The spear flew through the air and just missed her head; that left the soldier exposed, and Kyra immediately fired back, and before he could take cover, she felled him, too.

  Of the seven men left, six of them let out a battle cry, drew their swords, raised their shields, and surprised her by all charging for her at once in a well-coordinated attack. Only one remained behind, guarding the locked carriage, on its side, filled with shrieking girls.

  “Dierdre!” Kyra shrieked to the wood line.

  Dierdre, on the far side of the clearing, emerged from the woods and she, to Kyra’s surprise, ran fearlessly for the one soldier standing guard. She ran up behind him, jumped on his back, wrapped a piece of twine around his throat and squeezed, holding on with all her might.

  The soldier gasped and writhed, trying to break free. Yet Dierdre was determined, holding on for her life as the man, twice her size, bucked and stumbled. He slammed her into the iron bars of the carriage and Dierdre cried out—yet still she held on.

  The soldier threw himself backwards, landing on the ground, on top of her, and Dierdre cried out, crushed by the weight of him. She let go of her grip as he spun around and reached for her face, raising his thumbs, Kyra saw with horror, to gouge out her eyes. Kyra saw, with a sinking heart, that her friend was about to die.

  Suddenly there came a shriek, and the girls from the carriage, right beside Dierdre, rushed forward and stuck their arms through the bars, grabbing the soldier by the hair and face. They managed to yank him back, against the bars, off of Dierdre.

  Dierdre, freed up, scrambled to her feet, grabbed the soldier’s dropped spear from the mud, and plunged it with two hands into his gut, as the girls held him in place.

  The soldier went limp and fell face-first to the mud, dead.

  Kyra saw the six soldiers charging her, but yards away, and she focused on them. With little time to react, she raised her bow and fired, this time aiming low, beneath their shields, to their exposed legs. She felled one more soldier, as her arrow went through his calf.

  The five remaining closed in on her, too close now for her to fire again. Kyra dropped her bow and instead reached around and grabbed her staff off her back. She turned it sideways as a fierce soldier raised his sword high with both hands and brought it down for her head, and prayed that the staff held.

  Kyra blocked the blow, sparks flying, both hands shaking from the force, relieved her staff was in one piece. She then spun around and used her staff to jab the soldier in the jaw, a clean strike, breaking his jaw and knocking him down to the mud.

  The four remaining soldiers closed in. As one held his sword high, she spun and jabbed him in the solar plexus, making him keel over, then in the same motion raised her staff and cracked him in the side of the head, sending him to the ground.

  Kyra ducked as a soldier swung for her head, then spun around and jabbed him with her staff in the kidneys, making him drop his sword and collapse.

  Another soldier came her way, and Kyra crouched down low, then came up with an uppercut, connecting the staff under his chin and snapping his neck back, sending him to his back.

  Of the two men left, one slashed at her and she raised her staff and blocked it. He was quicker and stronger than the others, and as he slashed again and again, she blocked, swinging her staff around, sparks flying as he drove her back in the mud. She could not find an opening.

  As Kyra found h
erself losing strength, being dominated by this soldier, she felt she was going to lose. Finally, as she stumbled back, she had a realization, as her father’s words from one of their endless sparring sessions rang in her head: never fight on another man’s terms.

  Kyra realized she was fighting to this man’s strength, not to hers. Instead of trying to go blow for blow with him, this time, as he swung, she no longer tried to resist. Instead, she sidestepped and got out of his way.

  This caught him off guard and he stumbled in the mud—and as he went past, Kyra swung around and smashed him in the face with her staff, knocking him down, face-first in the mud. He tried to get up, and she brought her staff down on his back, knocking him out.

  Kyra stood there, breathing hard, taking stock of the bodies all around her, lying in the mud, and as she stood there, taking in the scene, she momentarily let her guard down and forgot—the final soldier. Kyra noticed, too late, movement out of the corner of her eye and she watched in horror as he brought his sword down for the back of her neck. She had been careless, and now there was no time to react.

  A snarling noise tore through the air as Leo leapt into the air and landed on the soldier’s chest, sinking his fangs into his throat right before he could kill Kyra. The man shrieked as Leo pinned him to the ground and tore him to pieces.

  Kyra stood there, realizing how much she owed her life Leo, and so grateful he was at her side.

  Kyra heard a commotion and looked across the clearing and saw Dierdre reaching up with the soldier’s sword and slashing at the chains to the carriage. It broke in a shower of sparks and a dozen girls rushed out, overjoyed, thrilled to be free. Dierdre then slashed the chains on the second carriage, and more girls rushed out. Some of them kicked the lifeless soldiers, venting their anger on them, while others cried and hugged each other. The sight of these girls’ freedom made it all worth it to Kyra. She knew she had done the right thing. She could hardly believe she had survived, had defeated all these men.

  Kyra joined Dierdre as they embraced the girls, all running over to them, eyes filled with tears and gratitude. She saw the look of trauma in their eyes, and she understood it too well.

  “Thank you,” one girl after another gushed.

  “I don’t know how to repay you!”

  “You already have,” Dierdre replied, and Kyra could see how cathartic this was for her.

  “Where will you go now?” Kyra asked, realizing they were all still here, in the middle of nowhere. “It is unsafe for you here.”

  The girls looked at each other, all clearly stumped.

  “Our homes are far from here,” one said.

  “And if we return, our families may send us back.”

  Dierdre stepped forward.

  “You shall come with me,” she said proudly, determined. “I am going to the city of Ur. You shall find safe harbor there. My family will take you in. I will take you in.”

  As she spoke the words, Kyra could see a new life begin to blossom within Dierdre, one of purpose, of fearlessness, as if her old self had a reason to live again. The girls, too, brightened at the idea.

  “Very well then,” Kyra said. We shall ride together. There is strength in numbers. Let us go!”

  Kyra went over and snatched a sword from a dead soldier and handed it to one of the girls, and one at a time, the other girls did the same, canvassing the battlefield for weapons.

  Kyra severed the ropes of the Pandesian horses bound to the carriages and mounted one, thrilled to have a ride again. The other girls rushed forward, each mounting a horse; there were so many of them they had to ride two or three to a horse, yet somehow, crammed as they were, they all fit, all of them armed, mounted, and ready to go.

  Kyra kicked her new horse and the others joined in, all of them taking off at a gallop, down the road, back in the other direction, finally, toward Ur. The wind in her hair, a horse beneath her, companions beside her, Kyra finally knew that the home stretch was before her, and nothing in the world would stop her now.

  The Tower of Ur was her next stop.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Duncan lowered his head to the wind as he hiked up the steep mountainside of Kos, the wind whipping his face with a fresh, driving snow, wondering how much worse conditions could become. The sky, so clear but hours ago, had turned a dark, angry gray, snow and wind driving them back, this mountain as unpredictable as it was famed to be. They had been hiking for hours, but now the elevation had become rapidly steeper.

  Duncan, hiking beside Seavig, Anvin and Arthfael, glanced back over his shoulder to check on his men. They all hiked with heads down, side-by-side two men wide in the narrow trail, all of them snaking their way up the mountain like a long line of ants. The wind and snow had worsened enough so that Duncan could no longer see all of his men, and he felt a pang of anxiety. He was for all of them, and a part of him felt that this was madness, marching them all straight up a mountain of ice and snow. There was a reason the Pandesians had never tried to ascend and take Kos: it was folly.

  Duncan ascended through a narrow stretch of rock and as he emerged, he looked up and his stomach dropped: the trail disappeared in a wall of ice. From here on in, it was a climb—straight up. He and his men would have to switch from walking to climbing by ice and pick. And they were still hardly halfway up the mountain.

  “Can we climb it?” Anvin asked, fear in his voice.

  Duncan looked up, squinted into the wind, and as he took stock, he thought he detected motion. There came a loud cracking noise, and suddenly, a huge icicle, perhaps twenty feet long, begin to separate. His heart plummeted as it released and came straight down for them, like a bolt of lightning from the sky.

  “MOVE!” Duncan shrieked.

  Duncan shoved his men out of the way then jumped himself, rolling several feet down the mountain as there came an enormous crash behind them. He looked back to see the icicle, like a giant sword, thrust into the earth and shattering into pieces. Fragments flew everywhere, and he covered his head with his hands, deflecting them, the chips painfully scratching him.

  The icicle then tumbled down the cliff, towards his men, and Duncan looked back over his shoulder and watched with dread as his men jumped left and right to get out of its way. More than one man slipped to his death, while one soldier, he saw, was impaled by it, his shrieks filling the air as he was crushed.

  Duncan lay on the ground, shaken, and looked over to Seavig, who exchanged a look with him. It was a look of dread.

  Duncan turned and looked back up the cliff, and he noticed hundreds more icicles, all perched warily along the edge, all with their tips pointing straight down at them. He was finally beginning to understand just how treacherous this ascent was.

  “No point waiting here,” Seavig said. “Either we climb now, or we wait for more of those things to come down and find us.”

  Duncan knew he was right, and he regained his feet. He turned and walked back down the mountain and took stock of the dead and wounded. He knelt beside a soldier, a boy hardly older than his own, and reached up and lowered his eyelids, a pain in his heart.

  “Cover him,” Duncan ordered his men.

  They rushed forward and did so, and Duncan moved on to the wounded, kneeling beside a young soldier whose ribs had been pierced by the icicle. He clasped his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the boy said. “I can’t make it up the mountain. Not like this.” He gasped. “Leave me here. Go on without me.”

  Duncan shook his head.

  “That’s not who I am,” he replied, knowing that, if he did, the boy would die out here. He came to a quick decision. “I shall carry you myself.”

  The boy’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “You’d never make it.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Duncan replied.

  Duncan squatted down, slung the soldier over his shoulder as he groaned, and then walked back through his ranks of men, all of them looking at him with wonder and respect.

  Seavig st
ared back at him as he reached the front, as if wondering how he could attempt this.

  “As you said,” Duncan said to him, “we have no time to lose.”

  Duncan continued marching forward, right for the sheet of rock, the soldier groaning over his shoulder. As he reached the ice, he motioned to his men, who stepped forward.

  “Tie him to my back,” Duncan said. “Make the ropes tight. It’s a long climb, and I don’t plan on either of us dying.”

  Duncan knew this would make a hard climb even harder, yet he also knew he would find a way. He had been through worse in his life, and he would rather die himself than leave one of his men behind.

  Duncan put on his snow shoes, feeling the spikes beneath his feet, grabbed his icepicks, threw back his arm and struck the ice wall. The pick settled into it nicely and he pulled himself up and jammed his foot into the ice below, which also settled in. He took another step, then slammed the ice pick in, and up he went, one step at a time, surprised at the effort it took as he climbed and praying that his tools held. He was, he realized, putting his very life into the fate of their craftsmanship.

  All around him his men did the same, and the air was suddenly filled with the sound of a thousand small picks chipping away at ice, rising up even over the howling of the wind. Like an army of mountain goats, they slowly ascended the ice face together. Each step was hard work for Duncan, especially with the wounded soldier on his back, but he never considered turning back. Giving up was not an option.

  Duncan climbed and climbed, arms shaking from the effort, the wind and snow occasionally blinding him. As he was breathing harder and harder, trying not to look up and see how much was left to go, he was relieved to see, after about fifty feet, a plateau up ahead.

  Duncan pulled himself up on it and momentarily collapsed, breathing hard, resting his shaking arms and shoulders.

  “Sir, leave me here,” the soldier implored, groaning on his back. “It’s too much for you.”