Morgan Rice: 5 Beginnings (Turned, Arena one, A Quest of Heroes, Rise of the Dragons, and Slave, Warrior, Queen)

by Morgan Rice

  Vesuvius raged in the silence.

  “Then why did you return to Marda?” he demanded.

  The troll kept his head lowered.

  “I was ambushed by a party of humans,” he said. “I was lucky to escape and make it back here.”

  “But why did you come back?” Vesuvius pressed.

  The soldier looked at him, puzzled and nervous.

  “Because my mission was over, my Lord and King.”

  Vesuvius fumed.

  “Your mission was to find the Sword—or die trying.”

  “But I made it through The Flames!” he pleaded. “I killed many humans! And I made it back!”

  “And tell me,” Vesuvius said kindly, stepping forward and laying a hand on the troll’s shoulder as he slowly walked with him toward the edge of the balcony. “Did you really think, upon coming back, that I would let you live?”

  Vesuvius suddenly grabbed the troll by the back of his shirt, stepped forward, and hurled him over the edge.

  The soldier flailed, shrieking through the air as much as his shackles would allow. All the workers down below stopped and looked up, watching as he fell. He tumbled a hundred feet then finally landed with a splat on the hard rock below.

  The workers all looked up at Vesuvius, and he glared back down at them, knowing this would be a good reminder to all who failed him.

  They quickly went back to work.

  Vesuvius, still in a rage and needing to let it out on someone, turned from the balcony and strutted down the winding stone steps carved into the canyon wall, followed by his men. He wanted to see their progress himself, up close—and while he was down there, he figured he could find a pathetic slave to beat to a pulp.

  Vesuvius wound his way down the stairs, carved into the black rock, descending flight after flight, all the way down to the base of this vast cave, which became hotter the lower he went. Dozens of his soldiers fell in behind him as he strutted across the cave floor, weaving his way between the streams of lava, between hordes of workers. As he went, thousands of soldiers and slaves stopped working and parted ways for him, bowing their heads differentially.

  It was hot down here, the base heated not only from the sweat of men, but from the streaks of lava that crisscrossed the room and oozed from the walls, from the sparks flying off the rocks as men struck them everywhere with axes and picks. Vesuvius marched across the vast cave floor, until finally he reached the entrance of the tunnel. He stood before it and stared: a hundred feet wide and fifty feet tall, the tunnel was being dug so that it sloped down gradually, deeper and deeper beneath the earth, deep enough to be able to support an army when the time came to burrow under The Flames. One day they would penetrate Escalon, rise above the surface, and take thousands of human slaves. It would, he knew, be the greatest day of his life.

  Vesuvius marched forward, snatched a whip from a soldier’s hands, reached high, and began lashing soldiers left and right. They all went back to work, striking the rock twice as fast, smashing the hard black rock until clouds of dust filled the air. He then made his way to the human slaves, men and women they had abducted from Escalon and had managed to bring back. Those were the missions he relished most of all, missions solely for the sake of terrorizing the West. Most humans died on the passage back, but enough survived, even if badly burnt and maimed—and these he worked to the bone in his tunnels.

  Vesuvius zeroed in on them. He thrust the whip into a human’s hand and pointed at a woman.

  “Kill her!” he commanded.

  The human stood there, shaking, and merely shook his head.

  Vesuvius snatched the whip back from his hand and instead lashed the man, again and again, until he finally stopped resisting, dead.

  The others went back to work, averting his gaze, while Vesuvius threw down the whip, breathing hard, and stared back into the mouth of the cave. It was like staring at his nemesis. It was a half-formed creation, going nowhere. It was all happening too slowly.

  “My Lord and King,” came a voice behind him.

  Vesuvius turned slowly to see several soldiers from the Mantra, his elite division of trolls, dressed in the black and green armor reserved for his best troops. They stood their proudly, holding halberds at their sides. These were the few trolls Vesuvius respected, and seeing them made his heart quicken. It could only mean one thing: they had brought news.

  Vesuvius had dispatched the Mantra on a mission many moons ago: to find the giant that lurked in Great Wood, rumored to have killed thousands of trolls. His dream was to capture this giant, bring it back, and use its brawn to complete his tunnel. Vesuvius had sent mission after mission, and none had come back. All had been discovered dead, killed by the giant.

  As Vesuvius stared at these men, his heart beat faster with hope.

  “Speak,” he commanded.

  “My Lord and King, we have found the giant,” one reported. “We have cornered him. Our men await your command.”

  Vesuvius grinned slowly, pleased for the first time in as along as he could recall. His smile grew wider as a plan hardened in his mind. Finally, he realized, it would all be possible; finally, he would have a chance to breach The Flames.

  He stared back at his commander, filled with resolve, ready to do what he had to.

  “Lead me to him.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Kyra stumbled through the snow, now past her knees, trekking her way through the Wood of Thorns as she leaned on her staff, trying to fight her way through what had become a full-fledged blizzard. The storm raged so strongly now, it had even penetrated the thick branches of the wood, blowing back these huge trees, gusts of wind so strong that they nearly bent them in half. Gusts of wind and snow whipped her face, making it hard to see again—hard to even keep her footing. As the wind continually picked up, it took all her might just to walk a few steps.

  The blood-red moon was long gone, as if it had been swallowed up by the storm, and now she had no light left to navigate by. Even if she had, she could barely see a thing. All she had left to ground her was Leo, walking slowly, wounded, leaning against her, his presence her only solace. With each step her feet seemed to sink deeper and she wondered if she were even making any progress. She felt an urgency to get back to her people, to warn them, making each step all the more frustrating.

  Kyra tried to look up, squinting into the wind, hoping to find some distant landmark—anything—trying to see if she was even going the right way. But she was lost in a world of white. Her cheek burned from the dragon’s scratch, feeling as if it were on fire. She reached up and touched it, and her hand was dotted with blood, the only warm thing left in the universe. Her cheek throbbed, nonetheless, as if the dragon had infected her.

  As a particularly strong gust of wind knocked her backwards, Kyra finally realized she could not go on; they had to find shelter. She was desperate to reach Volis before the Lord’s Men, but she knew that if she continued hiking like this, she knew she would die out here. Her only comfort was the fact that the Lord’s Men would not be able to attack in this weather—if the squire even made it home.

  Kyra looked around, this time for shelter—but even finding that proved elusive. Seeing nothing but white, the wind howling so loudly she could barely think, Kyra began to panic, to have visions of herself and Leo being found frozen out here in the snow, never discovered at all. She knew if she did not find something soon, they would certainly be dead by morning. This situation had crept up on her, and now it had become desperate. Of all nights to leave Volis, she realized now, she had picked the worst one.

  As if sensing her new intention, Leo began to whine and he suddenly turned and ran away from her. He crossed a clearing and as he reached the other side, began to dig fiercely at a mound of snow.

  Kyra watched curiously as Leo howled, scratching wildly, digging deeper and deeper in the snow, wondering what he had found. Finally, it gave way, and she was surprised to see he had unearthed a small cave, carved into the side of a huge boulder. Heart pound
ing with hope, she hurried over and crouched down and saw it was just wide enough to shelter them. It was also, she was thrilled to see, dry—and protected from the wind.

  She leaned down and kissed his head.

  “You did it, boy.”

  He licked her back.

  She knelt down and crawled into the cave, Leo beside her, and as she entered, she had an immediate sensation of relief. Finally, it was quiet; the wind’s noise was muted and for the first time it was not stinging her face, her ears; for the first time, she was dry. She felt like she could breathe again.

  Kyra crawled on pine needles, deeper and deeper into the cave, wondering how deep it went, until finally she reached the back wall. She sat and leaned against it and looked out. Occasional bursts of snow came in here, but the cave remained mostly dry, none reaching as deep as she. For the first time, she could truly relax.

  Leo crawled up beside her, snuggling his head in her lap, and she hugged him to her chest as she leaned back against the stone, shivering, trying to keep warm. She brushed the snowflakes off of her furs and off his coat, trying to get them dry, and she examined his wound. Luckily, it wasn’t deep.

  Kyra used the snow to clean it out and he whined as she touched it.

  “Shhh,” she said.

  She reached into her pocket and gave him her last piece of dried meat; he ate it greedily.

  As she leaned back and sat there in the dark, listening to the raging wind, watching the snow begin to pile up again, blocking her view, Kyra felt as if it were the end of the world. She tried to close her eyes, feeling bone weary, frozen, desperately needing to rest, but the scratch on her cheek kept her awake, throbbing.

  Eventually, her eyes grew heavy and began to shut on her. The pine beneath her felt oddly comfortable, and as her body morphed into the rock, she soon found herself, despite her best efforts, succumbing to the embrace of sweet sleep.

  *

  Kyra flew on the back of a dragon, hanging on for dear life, moving faster than she knew was possible, as it screeched and flapped its wings. They were so wide and magnificent, and they grew wider as she watched them, seeming as if they would stretch over the world.

  She looked down and her stomach dropped as she saw, far below, the rolling hills of Volis. She had never seen it from this angle, so high up. They flew over a lush countryside, with rolling green hills, stretches of woods, gushing rivers, and fertile vineyards. It was familiar terrain, and soon Kyra recognized her father’s fort, rambling, its ancient stone walls blanketing the countryside, sheep roaming outside of it.

  But as the dragon dove down, Kyra sensed immediately that something was wrong. She saw smoke rising—not the smoke of chimneys, but black, thick smoke. As she looked closer, she was horrified to see it was her father’s fort aflame, waves of flame engulfing everything. She saw an army of the Lord’s Men, stretching to the horizon, surrounding the fort, torching it, and as she heard the screams, she knew that everyone she knew and loved in the world was being slaughtered.

  “NO!” she tried to shout.

  But the words, stuck in her throat, would not come out.

  The dragon craned its neck, turned it all the way back and looked her in the eye—and Kyra was surprised to see it was the same dragon she had saved, its piercing yellow eyes staring right back at her. Theos.

  You saved me, she heard it say in her mind’s eye. Now I shall save you. We are one now, Kyra. We are one.

  Suddenly, Theos turned sharply, and Kyra lost her balance and fell.

  She shrieked as she plummeted through the air, the ground coming for her fast.

  “NO!” Kyra shrieked.

  Kyra sat up shrieking in the blackness, unsure of where she was. Breathing hard, she looked all around, until she finally realized: she was in the cave.

  Leo whined beside her, his head in her lap, licking her hand. She breathed deep, trying to remember where she was. It was still dark out, and outside the storm still raged, the winds howled, and the snow piled up. The throbbing in her cheek was worse, and she reached up and looked at her fingers and saw fresh blood. She wondered if it would ever stop bleeding.

  “Kyra!” called out a mystical voice, sounding almost like a whisper.

  Kyra, startled, wondering who could be in this cave with her, peered into the blackness, on alert. She looked up to see an unfamiliar figure standing over her in the cave. He wore a long, black robe and cloak and he held a staff; he appeared to be an older man, with white hair peeking out of his hood. His staff glowed, emitting a soft light in the blackness.

  “Who are you?” she asked, sitting up straight, on guard. “How did you get in here?”

  He took a step forward, and she wanted to see his face, but he was still obscured in shadow.

  “What is it that you seek?” he asked, his ancient voice somehow putting her at ease.

  She thought about that, trying to understand.

  “I seek to be free,” she said. “I seek to be a warrior.”

  Slowly, he shook his head.

  “You forget something,” he said. “The most important thing of all. What is it that you seek?”

  Kyra stared back, confused.

  Finally, he took another step forward.

  “You seek your destiny.”

  Kyra wondered at his words.

  “And more,” he said, “you seek to know who you are.”

  He stepped forward again, standing so close, yet still obscured in shadow.

  “Who are you, Kyra?” he asked.

  She stared back blankly, wanting to answer, but in that moment she had no idea. She was no longer sure of anything.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice so loud, echoing off the walls, hurting her eardrums.

  Kyra raised her hands to her face, bracing herself as he came closer.

  Kyra opened her eyes again and she was shocked to see that no one was there. She couldn’t understand what was happening. She slowly lowered her hands, and as she did, she realized that this time, she was fully awake.

  Bright sunlight shone into the cave, light reflecting off the snow, off the cave walls, blinding. She squinted, disoriented, trying to collect herself. The raging wind was gone; the blinding snow was gone. Instead, there was snow partially blocking the entrance and beyond it a world with a crystal blue sky, birds singing. It was as if the world had been reborn.

  Kyra could hardly fathom it: she had survived the long night.

  Leo gently bit at her pants leg and prodded her, impatient.

  Disoriented, Kyra slowly stood and as she did, she immediately reeled from the pain. Not only was her entire body sore from the fighting, the blows she had received, but most of all, her cheek burned as if it were on fire. She recalled the dragon’s claw, and she reached up and felt it; although just a scratch, it was still mysteriously moist, caked with blood.

  As she stood she felt lightheaded , and she did not know if it was from her exhaustion, her hunger, or the dragon’s scratch. She walked on unsteady legs, feeling unlike herself, as she followed Leo, who led the way impatiently out of the cave and back into day, clawing at the snow to widen their exit.

  Kyra crouched down and stepped outside and as she stood, found herself immersed in a world of blinding white. She raised her hands to her eyes, her head splitting at the sight. It had warmed considerably, the wind was gone, birds chirped, and the sun filtered through trees in the forest clearing. She heard a whoosh and turned to see a huge clump of snow slide off a heavy pine and make its way to the forest floor. She looked down and saw she stood in snow up to her thighs.

  Leo led the way, bounding through the snow, back in the direction of Volis, she was sure. She followed him, struggling to keep up.

  Kyra, though, found herself struggling with each step she took. She licked her lips and felt more and more lightheaded. The blood pulsed in her cheek, and she began to wonder if the wound had infected her. She felt herself changing. She could not explain it, but she felt as if the dragon’s blood were pulsing thro
ugh her.

  “Kyra!”

  There came a distant shout, sounding as if it were a world away. It was followed by several other voices, shouting her name, their cries absorbed by the snow and the pines. It took her a moment to realize, to recognize the voices: her father’s men. They were out here, searching for her.

  Kyra felt a surge of relief.

  “Here!” she called out, thinking she was shouting, but surprised to hear her own voice was barely above a whisper. At that moment, she realized just how weak she was. Her wound was doing something to her, something she did not understand.

  Suddenly, her knees buckled out from under her, and Kyra found herself falling into the snow, helpless to resist.

  Leo yelped, then turned and ran for the distant voices.

  She wanted to call to him, to call to all of them, but she was too weak now. She lay there, deep in the snow, and looked up at a world of white, at the blinding winter sun, and closed her eyes as a slumber she could no longer resist carried her away.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Alec held his head in his hands, trying to stop his headache, as the carriage, packed with boys, jolted roughly along the country road, as it had been doing all night long. The bumps and ditches never seemed to end, and this primitive wooden cart, with its iron bars and wooden wheels, seemed to have been constructed to inflict the maximum possible discomfort. With each bump, Alec’s head slammed into the wood behind him. After the first bump, he had been sure it could not go on like this for long, that the road must end sometime soon.

  But hour after hour had passed, and if anything, the road only seemed to worsen. He had been awake all night long, with no hope of sleep, if not from the bumps then from the stink of the other boys, from their elbowing and jostling him awake. All night long the cart made stops in villages, picking up more and more boys, cramming them all in here in the blackness. Alec could feel them looking him over, summing him up, a sea of dejected faces staring back at him, their eyes filled with wrath. They were all older, miserable, and looking for a victim.