by Morgan Rice
“The Flames must be restored,” Alva finally said. “That is the only way.”
Kyle and Kolva exchanged a baffled look.
“But how?” Kolva asked.
Alva closed his eyes for a long time, then finally opened them again.
“Within the Tower of Ur,” he began, “deep beneath the earth, lies the chamber of secrets. Within it lies our only hope.”
Kyle blinked back, confused.
“The tower, my lord?” he asked. “But it is destroyed.”
Alva turned to him, his eyes so intense he nearly had to look away. It was like staring into the sun.
“What you see is only rubble,” he replied. “The real secret of the tower lies not in its stone, but in what lies beneath.”
Kyle stared back, shocked, then turned and examined the massive pile of rubble where the Tower of Ur once stood.
“The tower rises high,” Alva continued, “yet it extends even deeper beneath the earth. The Tower of Ur was never a decoy. Each tower held its own great secret. Ur’s secret never resided above ground—but below.”
Kyle looked back, awestruck. He had never known of the tower’s secret.
“You must find it,” Alva urged him. “Clear the rubble and find the chamber. We cannot hold these trolls for long. That chamber is Escalon’s only hope.”
Kyle looked again at the rubble, at the hundreds of trolls clamoring over it in the descending mist, and he knew that reaching it would require an epic battle. Yet he had no choice: it was life or death.
Without hesitation, Kyle bounded off, raised his staff high, and threw himself into the midst of the troll army, Leo at his side, fighting for all he had, determined, even at the cost of his life, to find the lost chamber—and rescue Escalon.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Duncan led his thousand warriors on horseback, galloping west across the plains of Baris, heading for the Devil’s Gulch, and as he rode, he felt like a changed man. Still recovering from his wounds, he felt weaker now than he had ever been—in fact, Lorna had urged him to stay back and rest until he was fully recovered. Of course, he could not. He had an army to lead and a war to wage, and he knew that time would not wait for him.
Duncan rode in his weakened state, one hand on the reins, the other clutching his chest, blood still seeping where Kyra had stabbed him. Of course, he had to remind himself, it was not Kyra who had stabbed him, as much as she had looked like her—it was Ra, with his sorcery. Yet still the vision haunted him, his own daughter stabbing him, the idea of its being her hurting him more than the actual event. He could not shake the image from his head, and that, after all, was the real damage that Ra had done.
Duncan also could not shake from his mind another vision he’d had—that of his dying. He had felt his body getting lighter, crossing to the other side, and he could remember the moment of his leaving, his body so light, his ancestors awaiting him on the other side. He recalled an intense sense of peace and comfort he could not shake. He had been leaving, he felt certain of it, when King Tarnis’s daughter had brought him back.
Returning had been painful. He remembered blinking, looking up into Lorna’s face, the awful pain in his chest. The experience haunted him. He did not know what was scarier—leaving this world or returning to it.
It was all the more scarier when he had been told by Lorna, upon returning, that he had but a short lease on life left. He was defying his destiny, being given one final opportunity for battle and glory, one final chance to resolve the loose ends of his life. He was riding now on the final stretch of life, he knew, whatever little of it was left, and he was determined not to squander it.
Duncan rode and rode, the galloping of horses filling his ears, along with the sound of armor and weaponry clanging from his hundreds of men behind him. Anvin rode at his side, Aidan, Motley, and Cassandra behind them, White at their feet, and as Duncan reflected on his men, he took pride in knowing that he had dispatched them to the corners of Escalon to end this war, Seavig to the western shore to liberate Ur, and Kavos to the north to battle the legions near Kos. With everyone doing their part, they would have a chance, even if remote, to liberate Escalon once and for all. Duncan’s forthcoming battle in the Devil’s Gulch, he knew, would be the riskiest of all.
Duncan shouted and kicked his horse, gaining speed, determined to stay out in front of his men despite his pain, determined to lead by example and show his men that he was strong. He coughed up blood as he rode and wiped it away furtively with the back of his hand, not wanting any of them to see how sick he truly was.
Duncan gazed out at the horizon, taking stock. He knew that Ra’s army would be heading south now, coming to find him, and indeed, as he looked back over his shoulder, he could already see, on the distant horizon, an endless line of black forming, Pandesian banners blowing in the wind. This time they would not come at him with ten thousand men, but a hundred thousand, all of Ra’s forces, a vast and terrible army all bent on Duncan’s destruction.
Duncan rode and rode, increasing his speed, knowing they didn’t have much time if they were to make it in time to prepare a defense. In the distance he could see the shape of the Devil’s Gulch beginning to form, the towering cliffs rising a hundred feet high, jagged. The gulch they formed was wide enough only to accommodate a few men at a time, the greatest bottleneck in all of Escalon. It was his only hope, he knew.
If Duncan could lure Ra through the narrow passageway comprising the Devil’s Gulch, with its steep cliffs on one side and its raging sea on the other, he could stand a chance. He had to find a way to get Ra’s entire army to pass south through the gulch, then seal it up. Duncan hoped they would take the bait, and sensed that they would. Indeed, their rumbling only grew louder behind him, and he knew an army that big, with bait before it, pumped up with bloodlust, would never stop for anything. Their hubris, if he was right, would lead to their downfall.
As the sun fell lower in the sky, each step of the horse hurting Duncan so much that he clenched his jaw at the pain, he and his men finally reached the Gulch. They all came to a stop, and as they did Duncan turned and searched the horizon: the Pandesian army had not, to his relief, called off the pursuit. Indeed, they were closer now.
Duncan’s men, stopped amidst a cloud of dust, breathing hard with their horses, turned and looked at their leader, and he could feel all their eyes on him. He turned and surveyed his men, hiding his pain, knowing they needed strong leadership now more than ever.
“Volen!” he commanded.
Volen , one of his trusted commanders and one of the oldest of the bunch, stepped forward, at attention.
“You will remain on this side of the Gulch and lead the bulk of our men. You will take cover beneath the caves and wait for the Pandesians to pass through. You shall then seal the Gulch and bar them from reentering Escalon.”
“And you, my lord?” Volen asked, concern in his eyes.
“I shall lure the Pandesians through the Gulch, so you can close it off behind us.”
Duncan could see all of his men looking back at him, concern in their eyes. A thick, somber silence fell.
“But then how shall you return, Commander?” Volen finally asked.
Duncan shook his head slowly.
“I may not,” he replied. “I will lead them far enough, then circle back and attempt to pass back through the caves in these cliffs, if I do not find them sealed. If I can, I shall reunite with you here. If not, you shall seal up the Gulch either way.”
They all stared back, grim-faced, the silence so thick, nobody stirred.
“Father,” came a voice.
Duncan looked over to see Aidan, standing close, looking back up at him, tears and pride in his eyes, White at his feet.
“I shall come with you,” Aidan said.
Duncan was touched by his son’s courage. Yet he shook his head firmly.
“You shall stay with the bulk of the army here.” He then turned to the others. “I shall not ask any of you to join me, given th
e risk of this mission. Whoever wishes to volunteer, can.”
With that, Duncan kicked his horse, turned, and rode off toward the Gulch, having no time to lose, and expecting to ride alone.
Yet to his surprise, there soon arose a thundering of horses behind him. He turned and saw Anvin, joined by dozens of his men, all riding with them. He was touched by their loyalty.
“HORNS!” Duncan cried, issuing the first command.
No sooner had he uttered the words when his men sounded dozens of horns. Glancing back over his shoulder, Duncan was pleased to see the Pandesian army following, closing in, like a snake to a flute, all thundering for the Gulch.
The greatest battle of his life, he knew, lay but moments away.
*
Aidan stood with the bulk of his father’s soldiers beneath the towering cliffs of the Gulch, Motley and Cassandra at his side and White at his feet, all hiding in the recesses of the caves as the thunderous Pandesian army roared by. Aidan’s heart sank as he watched them, as he thought of his father riding through the Gulch. He knew it was a heroic mission, one from which he might never return. He watched the tens of thousands of men roar past, like a river without end, and his foreboding only deepened. Was this the time in which his father was destined to die?
It appeared as if the tides of the world were coursing by, and Aidan had no idea how his father could ever defeat them. Yet he also had a sense of relief. The final epic battle for the fate of Escalon had come. It was their ultimate chance to face Pandesia once and for all, to live or to die as free men—but no longer to cower in fear.
Aidan fidgeted, itching for action, no longer able to be still as he watched.
“I want to go out and fight them,” Aidan said to the others. “I want to be by my father’s side.”
Cassandra shook her head.
“You will only get us all killed,” she chided, grabbing his arm. “You cannot go out there and fight them now. Your father has chosen his fate. You will wait with the rest of us and help seal the gulch when the time comes. We shall be safer here, anyway, on this side.”
He frowned.
“I do not wish to be safe,” he replied.
Aidan could not stand the idea of his father out there, and he waiting here. It burned within his small warrior’s heart, a great yearning to assist his father in any way he could.
Unable to take it any longer, he finally drew his sword and took a step forward, prepared to enter the fray, as reckless as it may be.
Suddenly, he felt a strong, reassuring hand on his wrist.
“There is another way. A smarter way.”
Aidan turned to see Motley looking down at him, his expression grave.
“Deception trumps might any day,” Motley continued. “To defeat your enemy, do what he expects least.”
Aidan furrowed his brow.
“And what is that?” he asked.
“Join him.”
Aidan stared back, confused.
“Join the Pandesian army,” Motley added. “In disguise. Be the worm from within. That’s where you can do the most damage.”
Aidan pondered Motley’s words. They made sense. It was a bold plan, sneaking behind enemy lines—and he liked it.
“But how?” Aidan asked.
“The tunnels.”
Motley gestured to the shadows, and Aidan looked and saw, in the dark recesses of the caves, small passages burrowed into the cliffs.
“They lead to the other side,” Motley added. “You could emerge on the other side, steal armor from an unsuspecting soldier, and slip into their ranks. You could join them on the chase for Duncan, wait for your moment, and help him when he needs it most.”
Aidan grinned broadly, loving the idea. Here, finally, was something he could do.
Aidan wasted no time: he jumped into action, rushing forward, deeper into the shadows, heading for the tunnels. Outside, he heard the thunderous roar of the Pandesians racing by.
He heard a noise and looked over to see Motley at his side, and Aidan stared back with wonder.
“You’re coming?” Aidan asked.
Motley grinned, yet beneath it, Aidan could see him sweating.
“Can’t let you die alone, young friend.”
Aidan heard the draw of a sword, and looked over to see Cassandra standing at his other side.
“Nor I,” she added.
He heard a snarl, and looked down to see White at his feet, joining them, and he stood there, so grateful for all his friends’ loyalty.
“You first,” Motley said. “You’re smaller.”
Aidan grinned back. “Who are you calling small?” he retorted.
Motley smiled and Aidan stepped forward, crouched low, and stepped into the black dampness of the tunnel, hoping beyond hope that it let him out on the other side—and into the thick of the Pandesian ranks.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kyra plummeted through the air, clinging to Theon’s back, as they spun wildly out of control. She saw the ground rushing up to meet them, knew she would be dead in a few moments, and yet despite that, she wasn’t worried for herself. She could think only of one thing: that Staff of Truth. There it was, far below her, tumbling end over end, dropping through the sky as it fell toward the ground, gleaming each time it caught the light.
Kyra could scarcely believe that dragon had snatched it from her hands. She had felt so powerful, so invincible, had been certain that she and the staff would never be separated. And just like that, in one single swipe, the fate of Escalon, so fragile, was reeling; her own destiny, so precarious, was in jeopardy. How was it possible? How could a dragon’s swipe get in the way of destiny?
The more she dwelled on it, the more Kyra began to realize that destiny was fragile. Fate was fragile. True, what was meant to be was meant to be; yet she also had to intervene in her destiny if she were to shape it. As she fell, Kyra also realized something else: the staff was testing her. It was testing her strength, testing her resolve. Was she truly worthy of wielding it? It was forcing her to become bigger, stronger than herself.
Kyra closed her eyes and tuned into the energy of the staff and slowly, she realized that she and the staff were truly one. That nothing could come between them. She began to realize that the space between them was just an illusion. That there was no such thing in this world as separation.
In a moment of sudden insight, Kyra thrust out her palm and allowed that to come to her which she knew she deserved to have.
Kyra felt a tremendous wave of heat shoot through her body, her palm feeling as if it were on fire, and as she looked down, her heart leapt to see the staff suddenly reversing course. It suddenly flew upward in the air, right for her—and a moment later, it stuck to her palm.
As it did, Kyra felt alive again, felt more powerful than she’d ever been. Nothing could separate them now.
Kyra pulled up on Theon, and they leveled out just feet before hitting the ground, so close to trolls below that their swinging halberds nearly touched them. Then they ascended once again. Kyra looked up and kept the dragons in her sights, and she and Theon, equally determined, flew right for them.
As they reached the flock, Kyra swung the staff. The lead dragon dove for her, massive, with thick, red scales, and an orb of light emanated from the staff and stopped it in its tracks. It shrieked, stopped cold, and then suddenly, dead, plummeted straight down. It landed far below with a tremendous crash, crushing a hundred trolls beneath it.
Emboldened, Kyra swung the staff overhead in a wide circle, while Theon flew higher, gaining momentum, aiming for the next dragon. This one had huge, green scales, and as Kyra swung the staff, she smashed its throat, sending it rocking to her side, then tumbling end over end down to the ground below. It landed with a tremendous crash, dead.
Theon flew higher, as Kyra felt the staff urging them on. She let out a battle cry and leaned forward to face the three yellow dragons diving down for them. Theon, fearless, opened his jaws and lunged forward and clamped down on the throat
of the one in the middle. The dragon screeched, wrestling with him.
The other two closed in, and Kyra swung the staff, smashing one in the head with such force that she sent it hurtling backwards, then smashing the other across its back, sending it flipping end over end, screeching as it fell down to the ground, dead.
Theon still wrestled with the much bigger dragon, clamping onto its throat despite the bigger opponent scratching and biting him. Kyra, jerked back and forth as Theon struggled, raised her staff with both hands and brought it down straight between the eyes of the dragon opposite her. White sparks flew everywhere, and the dragon screeched, released its grip, and dropped like a stone straight down to the ground below. There followed a distant boom as the dragon hit the ground, creating a massive crater and sending up huge plumes of dust.
Kyra and Theon threw themselves into the rest of the flock, and one at a time, they destroyed each and every dragon, the Staff of Truth felling them like a thing of wonder. Finally there remained but two dragons still flying. They approached, and Theon bit the tail of one of them, swinging it wide, then sending it hurtling sideways. The other dragon, though, approached too quickly, opening its mouth to breathe fire and kill them both.
Kyra had little time to react. She raised her staff and instinctively threw it. It flew through the air and landed in the dragon’s throat, just as the flames came out. The Staff of Truth stopped and then reversed the flames, and as it did, it consumed the dragon in a ball of flame.
As the dragon began to plummet to its death, Kyra raised her palm and summoned the staff. It came back to her, unscathed, saved before the dragon’s jaws closed. The massive beast, the final dragon, dropped down to the ground, shrieking in a great ball of flame.
Kyra, breathing hard, was thrilled to realized they had won. Theon was bleeding and bruised, looking for more dragons, yet as she flew, she was amazed to see there were none left. She looked down and saw all the dead dragon carcasses littered below, and she realized with a shock she had killed Escalon’s remaining dragons. Finally, the skies above Escalon were free.
