by Morgan Rice
A massive stone arch lay straight ahead, its portcullis raised, leading to a bridge, and beyond that, Kyra’s heart quickened to see, open land. Freedom.
She kicked the horse with all her might as she saw the soldiers at the exit taking notice.
“STOP THEM!” yelled a soldier from behind.
Several soldiers scurried to large iron cranks and, to Kyra’s dread, began to turn the cranks that lowered the portcullis. Kyra knew that if it closed before they reached it, their lives would be over. They were but twenty yards away and riding faster than she’d ever had—and yet the portcullis, thirty feet high, was lowering slowly, one foot at a time.
“Get as low as you can!” she shrieked to Dierdre, Kyra bending all the way over until her face was on the horse’s mane.
Kyra raced, heart pounding in her ears, as they charge through the arch, the portcullis lowering, so low that she had to duck. It was so close, she did not know if they would make it.
Then, just as she was sure they would die, their horse burst through, the portcullis slamming down right behind them with a great boom. A moment later they were across the bridge and, to Kyra’s immense relief, out under open sky.
Horns sounded behind them, and a moment later, Kyra flinched as she heard an arrow whiz by her head.
She glanced back and saw the Lord’s Men taking positions up and down the ramparts, firing at them. She zigzagged on the horse, realizing they were still within range, urging it faster.
They were making progress, perhaps a fifty yards out, far enough so most arrows fell short—when suddenly, to her horror, she watched an arrow land in their horse’s side. It immediately reared—throwing them both off.
Kyra’s world turned to chaos. She hit the ground hard, winded, as the horse rolled right next to her, luckily missing them by an inch.
Kyra knelt on her hands and knees, dazed, her head ringing, and looked over and saw Dierdre beside her. She glanced back and saw, in the distance, the portcullis being raised. Hundreds of soldiers were lined up, waiting, and as the portcullis opened, they tore out the gates. It was a full-scale army, on its way to kill them. She was confused as to how they could have assembled so quickly, but then she realized: they were already assembling, at dawn, to attack Volis.
Kyra, on foot, looked over at their dead horse, at the vast open plains before them, and she knew, finally, their time had come.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Aidan marched for his father’s chamber impatiently, Leo at his side, with a deepening premonition that something was wrong. He had been searching for his sister Kyra all over the fort, Leo at his side, checking all her usual haunts—the armory, the blacksmith’s, Fighter’s Gate—and yet she was nowhere to be found. He and Kyra had always had a close connection, ever since he was born, and he always knew when something was off with her—now, he felt warning signs inside. She had been absent from the feast, and he knew she would have not missed it.
Most concerning of all, Leo was not with her—which never, ever happened. Aidan had grilled Leo, but the wolf, clearly trying to tell him something, could not communicate. He only stuck to Aidan’s side, and would not leave it.
Aidan had spent the feast with a knot in his stomach, checking the door constantly for any sign of Kyra. He had tried to mention it to his father during the meal, but Duncan had been surrounded by too many men, all of them too focused on discussing the battle to come, and none taking him seriously.
At first light Aidan, awake all night, jumped up and ran to his window, checking the breaking dawn for any sign of her. There was none. He burst out of his chamber, down the corridor, past all his father’s men and into Kyra’s room and he did not even knock as he put a shoulder to it, running inside, looking for her.
But his heart had fallen to find her bed empty, still made from the day before. He knew then, for certain, something was wrong.
Aidan ran all the way down the corridors to his father’s chambers, and now he stood before the giant door and looked back at the two guards before it.
“Open the door!” Aidan ordered urgently.
The guards exchanged an unsure look.
“It was a long night, boy,” one guard said. “Your father won’t take kindly to being awakened.”
“Today could bring battle,” said the other. “He needs to be rested.”
“I will not say it again,” Aidan insisted.
They looked at him, skeptical, and Aidan, unable to wait, rushed forward and slammed the knocker.
“Whoa, boy!” one of them said.
Then realizing his determination, the other guard said, “All right—but it’s your head if anything happens. And the wolf stays here.”
Leo snarled, but the guard reluctantly pushed open the door just enough for Aidan to step inside, closing it behind him.
Aidan rushed to his father’s bed to find him sleeping in his furs, snoring, a half-dressed serving girl lying beside him. He grabbed his father’s shoulder and shoved him, again and again.
Finally, his father opened his eyes with a fierce look, staring back as if he were going to whack him. But Aidan would not be deterred.
“Father, you must wake up now!” Aidan urged. “Kyra is missing!”
His father’s look morphed into one of confusion, and he stared back, eyes bloodshot, as if in a drunken haze.
“Missing?” he said, his voice deep, gravelly, rumbling in his chest. “What do you mean?”
“She did not return to her chamber last night. Something has happened to her—I’m certain of it. Alert your men at once!”
His father sat up, this time looking more alert, rubbing his face and trying to shake off the sleep.
“I am sure your sister is fine,” he said. “She’s always fine. She survived an encounter with a dragon—do you think a small snowstorm blew her away? She’s just somewhere you cannot find her—she likes to go off by herself. Now go on. Be on your way before you end up with a good spanking.”
But Aidan stood there, determined, red-faced.
“If you won’t find her, I’ll find her myself,” he yelled and turned and ran from the chamber, hoping that somehow he had gotten through to him.
*
Aidan stood outside the gates of Volis, Leo beside him, standing proudly on the bridge and watching dawn spread across the countryside. He checked the horizon for any signs of Kyra, hoping perhaps she’d return from firing arrows, but he found none. His foreboding worsened. He had spent the last hour waking everyone from his brothers to the butcher, asking who had seen her last. Finally, one of his father’s men had reported that he had seen her riding off toward the Wood of Thorns with Maltren.
Aidan had combed the fort for Maltren and had been told he was out for his morning hunt. And now he stood here, watching for Maltren to return, eager to confront him and find out what happened to his sister.
Aidan stood there, shin deep in snow, shivering but ignoring it, hands on his hips, waiting, watching, until finally, he squinted as he saw a figure appearing on the horizon, charging forward in the snow, galloping, wearing the armor of his father’s men, the dragon’s crest shining on his breastplate. His heart lifted to see it was Maltren.
Maltren galloped toward the fort, a deer draped over the back of his horse, and as he neared, Aidan saw his disapproval. He looked down at Aidan and came to a reluctant stop before him.
“Out of the way, boy!” Maltren called out. “You’re blocking the bridge.”
But Aidan stood his ground, confronting him.
“Where is my sister?” Aidan demanded.
Maltren stared back, and Aidan saw a moment of hesitation cross his face.
“How should I know?” he barked back. “I am a warrior—I don’t keep track of the frolicking of girls.”
But Aidan held his ground.
“I was told she was with you last. Where is she?” he repeated more firmly.
Aidan was impressed by the authority in his own voice, reminding him of his own father, though he w
as still too young and lacked the deepness of tone he so badly craved.
He must have gotten through to Maltren, because he slowly dismounted, anger and impatience flashing in his eyes, and walked toward Aidan in a threatening matter, armor rattling as he went. As he neared, Leo snarled, so viciously that Maltren stopped, a few feet away, looking from the wolf to Aidan.
He sneered down at Aidan, stinking of sweat, and even though he tried not to show it, Aidan had to admit he was afraid. He thanked God he had Leo at his side.
“Do you know what the punishment is for defying one of your father’s men?” Maltren asked, his voice sinister.
“He is my father,” Aidan insisted. “And Kyra is his daughter, too. Now where is she?”
Inside, Aidan was trembling—but he was not about to back down—not with Kyra in danger.
Maltren looked about, over his shoulder, apparently checking to see if anyone were watching. Satisfied that no one was, he leaned in close, smiled, and said:
“I sold her to the Lord’s Men—and for a handsome price. She was a traitor and a troublemaker—just like you.”
Aidan’s eyes widened in shock, furious at his betrayal.
“As for you,” Maltren said, reaching in and grabbing Aidan’s shirt, pulling him close. Aidan’s heart jumped as he saw him slip his hand on a dagger in his belt. “Do you know how many boys die in this moat each year? It’s a very unfortunate thing. This bridge is too slippery, and those banks too steep. No one will ever suspect this was anything but another accident.”
Aidan tried to wiggle his way free, but Maltren’s grip was too tight. He felt flushed with panic, as he knew he was about to die.
Suddenly, Leo snarled and leapt for Maltren, sinking his fangs into his ankle. Maltren let go of Aidan and raised his dagger to stab the wolf.
“NO!” Aidan shouted.
There came the sound of a horn, followed by horses bursting through the gate, galloping across the bridge, and Maltren stopped, dagger in mid-air. Aidan turned and his heart lifted with relief to see his father and two brothers approaching, joined by a dozen men, their bows already drawn and pointed for Maltren chest.
Aidan broke free and Maltren stood there, looking afraid for the first time, holding his dagger in his hand, caught red-handed. Aidan snapped his fingers, and Leo reluctantly backed off.
Duncan dismounted and stepped forward with his men, and as they did, Aidan turned to them.
“You see, Father! I told you! Kyra is missing. And Maltren has betrayed her—he has sold her to the Lord Governor!”
Duncan stepped forward and a tense silence overcame them as his men surrounded Maltren. He looked nervously over his shoulder to his horse, as if contemplating escape, but the men came forward and grabbed its reins.
Maltren looked back at Duncan, clearly nervous.
“You were going to lay your hands on my boy, were you?” his father asked, looking Maltren in the eye, his tone hard and cold.
Maltren gulped and said nothing.
Duncan slowly raised his sword and held the point to Maltren’s throat, death in his eyes.
“You will lead us to my daughter,” he said, “and it will be the last thing you do before I kill you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Kyra and Dierdre ran for their lives across the snowy plains, gasping for breath, as they slipped and slid on the ice. They sprinted through the icy morning, steam rising from their mouths, the cold burning Kyra’s lungs, her hands numb as she gripped her staff. The rumble of a thousand horses filled the air, and she looked back and wished she hadn’t: on the horizon charged the Lord’s Men, thousands of them bearing down. She knew there was no point in running. With no shelter on the horizon, nothing but open plains before them, they were finished.
Yet still they ran, driven on by some instinct to survive.
Kyra slipped, falling face first in the snow, winded, and she immediately felt a hand under her arm, pulling her up; she looked over to see Dierdre yanking her back to her feet.
“You can’t stop now!” Dierdre said. “You didn’t leave me—and I won’t leave you. Let’s go!”
Kyra was surprised by the authority and confidence in Dierdre’s voice, as if she had been reborn since she had left prison, her voice filled with hope, despite their circumstances.
Kyra broke back into a run, both of them heaving, as they finally began to crest a hill. She tried not to think of what would happen when this army caught up with them, when they reached Volis and slaughtered her people. And yet, Kyra had been trained not to give up—however bleak.
They crested the hill and as they did, Kyra stopped in her tracks, stunned at the sight before her. From up here she had a view of the countryside, a huge plateau stretching before her, and her heart leapt with ecstasy as she saw, riding toward them, her father, leading a hundred men. She could not believe it: he had come for her. All of these men had come all this way, had risked their lives in a suicide mission, just for her.
Kyra burst into tears, overwhelmed with love and gratitude for her people. They had not forgotten her.
Kyra ran for them, and as she neared, she saw Maltren’s severed head tied to his horse, and realized at once what had happened: they had discovered his treachery and had come for her. Her father seemed equally surprised to see her, running out here in the open; he had probably expected to free her from the fort, she realized.
They all stopped as they met in the middle, her father dismounting, rushing to her and meeting her in a strong embrace. As she felt his strong arms around her she was overwhelmed with relief, felt that everything would be well in the world, despite their overwhelming odds. She had never felt so proud of her father as she did in that moment.
Her father’s expression suddenly changed, his face growing serious as he looked over her shoulder, and she knew he had seen it: the vast army of the Lord’s Men, cresting the hill.
He gestured to a waiting horse, and another vacant one for Dierdre.
“Your horse is waiting for you,” he said, pointing to a beautiful white stallion. “You will fight with us now.”
With no time left for words, Kyra immediately mounted her horse as her father did his, and she fell in line with all his men, all of them facing the horizon. Before her, on the horizon, she saw the Lord’s Men, spread out before them, thousands of men against their mere hundred. Yet her father’s men sat proudly, and not one backed away.
“MEN!” her father yelled, his voice strong, booming. “WE FIGHT FOR ETERNITY!”
They let out a huge battle cry, sounded their horns, and as one, they all charged forward, rushing to meet the enemy.
Kyra knew this was suicide. Behind the thousand Lord’s Men lay another thousand, and another thousand behind them. Her father knew that; all his men knew that. But no one hesitated. For they were not fighting for their land, but for something even more precious: their very existence. Their right to live as free men. Freedom meant more to these men than life, and while they could all be killed, they would all, at least, die by choice, die as free men.
As Kyra rode beside her father, beside Anvin, Vidar and Arthfael, she was exhilarated, overcome with a rush of adrenaline. In her haze, she felt her life pass before her eyes. She saw all the people she had known and loved, the places she had been, the life she had led, knowing it was all about to end. As the two armies neared, she saw the Lord Governor’s ugly face, leading the way, and she felt a fresh sense of anger at Pandesia. Her veins burned for vengeance.
Kyra closed her eyes and made one last wish.
If I am truly prophesied to become a great warrior, let the time be now. If I truly have a special power, show me. Let it come out now. Allow me to crush my enemies. Just this one time, on this one day. Allow justice to be done.
Kyra opened her eyes, and she suddenly heard a horrific screech cut through the air. It raised the hair on the back of her neck, and she searched the skies and saw something that took her breath away.
Theos.
The imme
nse dragon flew, swooping down right for her, staring at her with his large, glowing yellow eyes, the eyes she had seen in her dreams, and in her waking moments. They were the eyes she could not shake from her mind, the eyes that she had always known she would one day see again.
His wing healed, Theos lowered his claws and dove down, right for her head, as if to kill her.
Kyra watched as all of her father’s men looked up, mouths agape with fear, crouching, preparing to die. But she herself felt unafraid. She felt the strength within the dragon, and she knew this time that she and the dragon were one.
Kyra watched in awe as Theos came right for her, his wings so wide they blocked the sun, and screeched a mighty screech, enough to terrify the men. He came so close, then rose back up at the last second, his claws nearly grazing their heads.
Kyra turned and watched Theos fly straight up, then turn around and circle back. This time he flew behind her men, rushing forward as if to fight with them, right for the Lord’s Men.
It opened its great jaws and flew over them until finally it led the way, out in front of her father’s men, racing single-handedly to meet the Lord’s Men in battle first.
Kyra watched, awestruck, as the dragon approach and the Lord Governor’s face morphed from arrogance to fear; indeed, she saw the terror in all their faces, all of them, finally, afraid, all realizing what was to come. Vengeance.
Theos opened its mouth overhead and with a great hissing and crackling noise breathed fire, a stream of flame lighting up the snowy morning. The shrieks of men filled the air, as a great conflagration spread through the army’s ranks, killing row after row of men.
The dragon continued, flying again, circling, breathing fire, killing every enemy in sight until finally, there was no one left. Nothing but endless piles of ash where men and horses once stood.
Kyra watched it unfold with a surreal feeling. It was like watching her destiny unfold before her. At that moment she knew that she was different, she was special. The dragon had come just for her.
