by Morgan Rice
There was little they could do against an invisible foe, a trained assassin. Within moments, the ship fell very still, Merk standing there, breathing hard, covered in blood.
It took a moment for the realization to sink in: this Pandesian warship was theirs.
Merk heard a noise behind them, a light thud, like a cat landing on deck, and he turned to see, out of the mist, Lorna emerging. Merk sheathed his dagger, while she stepped forward, drew hers, and sliced the rope anchoring the ship.
Merk felt the massive ship begin to move beneath them.
He turned to her, wondering.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Now,” she replied, smiling, “we sail into battle.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dierdre and Marco rode on the back of Andor in the black of night, heading south, away from the ruins of the Tower of Ur, away from the battle still raging with Alva and Kolva and Kyle, and determined to spark a battle of their own. Dierdre peered into the blackness as they rode, eager to return to her former city of Ur, even if it was now under water. She was eager to avenge her father.
Dierdre tried to collect her thoughts as she rode, still in shock at everything that had happened. She had been so sure, when she had set out with Marco for the Tower of Ur, that they would find Kyra there, that they would find safe haven together and have a chance to start again. She had never expected to find the tower destroyed, to find trolls attacking it, had never expected to find herself immersed in the front lines of an epic battle to spare the north. She had, most of all, never expected the Flames to be lowered, Escalon to be overrun. It had been like leaving a nightmare to walk into hell.
She would have surely died there had it not been for Kyle showing up, saving them—and then Alva appearing on his heels and saving all of them. Alva’s command to ride to Ur was one she had been too happy to obey. She could not wait to leave that place. Dierdre still saw in her mind’s eye the grotesque faces of the trolls, lunging for her, trying to tear her apart, and she wanted to get as far away from them as she could.
The idea of being able to be of service in her home city consumed her. She and Marco had had no choice but to flee Ur after the flood, yet now that they were returning, she was elated. If there was any glimmer of hope for her city to rise again, she would gladly give her life for it.
She wondered, though, what Alva had foreseen. She could not imagine, after the destruction she had seen, how her city could ever rise again. And she did not see how she and Marco could possibly offer any meaningful help. Yet, after witnessing his power she trusted Alva, and was all too eager to do her part to help.
Dierdre and Marco finally broke through the woods, she so hopeful for a glimpse of her city, praying that she would somehow find it rising from the waters. Yet as she did, she was dismayed at the sight before her. She had hoped that perhaps Alva had seen something she had not, that she might find an epic battle here that would see her city restored. Yet instead, she blinked, confused, as they stopped their horses and caught their breath.
There was nothing before them but water.
It was exactly as they had left it, the city of Ur now a lake, shimmering in the black of night, its harbor filled with thousands of Pandesian ships. There was no battle. It was in the same state of total conquest and defeat.
She and Marco exchanged a glance, both baffled, wondering why Alva had dispatched them here. Had he been wrong?
Dierdre peered out into the horizon, searching the black of night, wondering if she were overlooking something—and as she did, she saw something which caught her eye. There, on the horizon, far out at sea, she saw a dim haze of light; it appeared that some Pandesian ships were aflame. She was confused. Who could possibly be attacking the Pandesian fleet?
As she listened closely, she thought she could hear the distant rumble of cannon fire. She realized, with a jolt of hope, that a battle was raging. Someone was fighting back against the Pandesians.
“The war is beginning,” Dierdre said excitedly. “We must help them.”
She kicked her horse and they rode downhill, skirting the lake that was once Ur, her heart pounding, until finally they reached the shore where the harbor met the cliffs.
They stopped, breathing hard, and looked out. A battle was clearly raging. Cannons boomed, and cannonballs, she could see, sailed through the night, between rows of ships aflame. Dierdre wondered who was fighting.
She looked closer to her and observed the Pandesian ship anchored closest to the harbor. It was massive, its ropes tied near the cliffs, and on its deck she could see, lit by torchlight, Pandesian soldiers rushing across the deck, lighting cannons, their great wicks sparking. She suddenly reeled back as there came another boom, and she watched as a cannonball soared from the ship through the night.
Dierdre followed its trail out to the ocean and saw its missed target: a lone ship, sailing in the blackness, its silhouette visible amidst the conflagrations. It cut its way stealthily through the greater Pandesian fleet. Dierdre’s heart skipped a beat as she realized: those were Escalon soldiers aboard that Pandesian ship. They had commandeered it. It was cutting through the fleet and wreaking havoc—and now the Pandesians were aiming to blow it to pieces.
“We must stop them!” Dierdre said urgently. “They will kill our people! We must board that ship and stop them from firing!”
“But how?” Marco asked.
Without waiting, Dierdre dismounted, ran, and took a flying leap off the cliff. Her stomach plummeting, she aimed for the huge rope anchoring the Pandesian ship and just caught it, palms burning. She wrapped her legs around it and began to climb. Andor whinnied from land, as if egging her on, as if furious he could not join her.
The rope burned at her palms and the arduous climb made every muscle in her body ache. She inched her way up slowly, one foot at a time, making her way toward the edge of the ship, eager not to be seen. Luckily the Pandesian soldiers, their backs to her, were too fixated watching the battle at sea to check their backs.
Dierdre suddenly felt a great shaking on the rope, and she looked down to see Marco landing on it, following her lead and climbing too, just feet behind her.
She soon reached the rail, and in one quick move climbed over the edge. Marco was close behind, and as the two of them landed on deck, they both rose to their feet and looked at each other, shocked they had made it this far, that they were in the thick of enemy territory.
Andor, on land, clawed the ground, stomping, irate he could not join them.
“Go, Andor!” Dierdre called out, feeling badly for this great beast who had brought them here, not wanting him to give them away. “Return to Kyle. Fight for us there!”
Andor did as he was asked, turning and galloping off, needing no prodding.
Dierdre, heart slamming, saw, feet in front of her, dozens of Pandesian soldiers lined up at the rail, heaving cannonballs, preparing the cannons, and lighting torches. She looked out to sea and was able to finally see who they were firing at. She gasped in recognition.
“Seavig!” she whispered to Marco.
“You know him?” Marco asked.
“My father fought with his men many times,” she replied. “We must help them.”
She knew there was little time.
“But how?” Marco asked.
Dierdre gestured to Marco, and they both watched the soldiers lowering torches to the cannons. Without thinking, they both rushed into action at the same time.
They sprinted forward and as they reached the unsuspecting Pandesians, Marco tackled one to the ground, while Dierdre grabbed hold of the hair of another and yanked him away. She also snatched his torch and hurled it over the edge, sending it hissing into the water below. The cannon was already lit, though, and Dierdre, realizing there was no time, threw her body weight into it, desperate to move it before it fired at Seavig’s ship.
Dierdre shoved it a foot to the right a second before it fired.
A great boom shook the air, and the cannonball
flew through the air and just missed Seavig’s ship, thanks to her.
The commotion on deck caught the attention of the other soldiers, though, and Dierdre turned to see dozens of fully armed, irate Pandesian soldiers charging for them. She realized, too late, that she had thrown herself right into the enemy’s lap.
She had saved Seavig. But her run had come to an end.
*
Alec stood at the bow of the ship as he led the small fleet from the Lost Isles, gripping the Unfinished Sword and staring out at the Sea of Sorrow. It had been a harrowing journey from the Bay of the Death all the way along the cost, but finally they were nearing the harbor of Ur. They would skirt it, as was the plan, sail around the massive Pandesian fleet, and continue on in the darkness all the way to the Tower of Ur, where Lorna had directed him to go. It was where, she had said, the Unfinished Sword must be put to use to end this war, and Alec, loyal soldier that he was, would go anywhere he was needed to save his homeland.
Alec held the Unfinished Sword tight the entire way up here, gripping the hilt, unwilling to let it go, this magical weapon which had become a part of him. He marveled at how his life had changed since the Bay of Death. He still saw in his mind’s eye his felling of dragons. It almost felt like a dream.
As they neared the port of Ur, this place that had once meant so much to him, Alec was overcome by a new feeling. He could not quite understand it, but it was almost as if the sword were communicating with him, as if it were urging him to stop here. As they approached the harbor, Alec held out a hand and the ship came to a stop, and the fleet behind him.
His men stood beside him, looking at him questioningly.
“Why have we stopped?” one of his men asked, coming up beside him.
“The Pandesian fleet lies ahead,” another chimed in. “If we stay here too long, they will see us.”
Alec gripped the rail and felt a vibration run through his palm from the sword’s hilt.
“I sense something,” he said.
He closed his eyes and felt the sword commanding him.
“I am needed here,” he finally said.
The men looked at each other, baffled.
“Our mission is to bring you—and the sword—to the Tower of Ur,” the soldier replied. “You heard Lorna. She told us not to stop for anything. It is too dangerous.”
Alec nodded.
“And yet, I feel I am needed here now. I cannot abandon the cause the sword is leading me to.”
The men looked to each other, baffled.
“If we stop here, we will all be killed,” added another soldier, coming up beside them. “We have no time. We must sail from here, and along the coast to the tower of Ur. The Pandesian fleet will soon spot us.”
Alec nodded, realizing.
“That is why you shall go on without me,” he said, stepping forward to the rail, preparing to depart. “Sail north and meet me at the Tower of Ur.”
The men looked at each other, then at him, shock in their eyes.
“You will die here,” the soldier said sadly.
Alec shook his head.
“I go where the sword bids,” he replied. “It shall protect me.”
Without another word, Alec grabbed a rope and lowered himself down into a small dinghy. It rocked wildly as he sat in it, and he wasted no time in pushing off from the larger ship, rowing quickly.
Before him lay the entire fleet of Pandesia, and as he rowed, he realized he would be one man against a nation. As much as he wanted to, he did not look back. He knew he had to only look forward.
Alec rowed and rowed, cutting through water, alone in the small dinghy, feeling dwarfed by the midnight sky, the million red stars, and the enormity of the universe. He navigated his way silently through the Pandesian fleet, his only saving grace the impenetrable dark and a persistent mist that drifted in and out, thickening like a fog. His boat was too small, luckily, for the Pandesians to be looking for—if it were any bigger, he figured, he’d be long dead by now. He did not know where the Unfinished Sword was leading him, but he knew enough by now to trust his instincts.
Rowing for he did not know how long, losing track of time as he watched the changing of the stars, Alec finally sat up, alert. There, up ahead, he saw it. Ships were ablaze.
Alec soon found himself navigating amidst a burning Pandesian fleet, amazed at the size and scope of the fires, wondering what battle had happened here. He looked about in confusion as Pandesian horns sounded through the night, echoing in the fog; he marveled as he watched Pandesians battling each other, as if trying to get away from an invisible enemy. He wondered what had happened here, and he wondered why the sword burned hotter in his palm as it led him closer and closer to shore.
Finally, Alec spotted a single ship in the distance, and he sensed that was his destination. The sword was pulling at him, demanding he go there.
Alec rowed until he reached the hull of the Pandesian ship, and when he did, he leapt from the dinghy, grabbed the dangling rope and pulled himself up. Soon he was up over the rail, and as he landed on the deck, he did so at a run, the sword in hand, the weapon practically pulling him where he needed to go. He knew that doing so could mean his death, that he was throwing himself into the arms of the enemy, yet he trusted the sword.
Alec spotted soldiers up ahead, and he charged, raised the sword, and let out a battle cry. There was a mob of Pandesians, crowding around somebody, and as Alec charged, the mob turned and stared at him, shocked; as they parted ways, they revealed who was on deck.
To Alec’s shock, he saw his old friend Marco lying there, along with the girl he loved, Dierdre.
He could not have been more surprised to see them—yet he did not pause. He could see in an instant that his friends were in danger. They lay prone on the deck, the Pandesians surrounding them, about to kill them.
Alec pulled back the Unfinished Sword, lunged into the crowd, and slashed. The sword emitted an odd humming noise as it sliced through three men at once, so fast that it cut them in half before they could even raise their swords. Alec then spun and slashed at another soldier’s sword, and it sliced the metal in half; he then swung around and, with the hilt, knocked the man clear off the railing.
Alec spun again and again, cutting through the mob of soldiers, moving in a blur, the sword commanding him as if it were an extension of his arm. He swung and spun and slashed, untouchable, the sword humming through the air like a living thing. Men fell all around him, their cries ringing out, more than one knocked back over the rail, splashing into the depths.
Within moments Alec looked around and realized he was the last man standing there in the quiet. He breathed hard, taking it all in, amazed. He had killed them all. Dozens of dead soldiers lay on the deck—and he had hardly even realized what he was doing.
Alec looked up, remembering Marco and Dierdre. They rose to their feet, staring back at him with wonder and gratitude.
“Alec,” Marco called out. He stepped forward and embraced his old friend, while Alec, slowly snapping out of it, embraced him back.
Yet even as he did, Alec felt numb. He turned and looked into Dierdre’s eyes, and as their eyes locked, he saw something. It was an expression of love. But not for Alec. For Marco.
Immediately, he understood. Dierdre loved his friend now. Not him.
In his moment of realization, Alec felt as if he had been stabbed in the gut. He felt betrayed—by her, by him, by the world.
Dierdre stepped forward, tears in her eyes.
“I thought you were dead,” she tried to explain. “You left us all.”
Alec shook his head.
“I never left,” he corrected. “I was fighting on another front.”
“But…you did not tell us,” she said, now seeming unsure.
“There was no time,” he replied.
“Whatever it was, it is good to see you back, my friend,” Marco said cheerfully, not realizing. “I missed you.”
Yet there was no joy in Alec’s heart now. Onl
y sadness. Remorse. Betrayal.
He and Dierdre locked eyes, and he could begin to see the sadness and regret in her eyes, too. Slowly, he felt his world spinning out from under him. Seeing Dierdre again had been the only thing keeping him alive. Alec had never anticipated this, and seeing her here, in love with his best friend, was more than he could handle. He wanted to run, to be anywhere but here.
“You are safe now,” Alec said, his voice dark, joyless. “The soldiers are dead. The ship is yours.”
“What do you mean?” Marco asked, confused, holding out a hand as Alec stepped to move away. “Are you leaving us? You just arrived.”
Alec could not bring himself to respond. His love for Dierdre overwhelmed him, as did his sense that he had lost his best friend. Without another word, he hurried for the rail.
“Where are you going?” Dierdre asked, rushing forward. He could hear the concern in her voice. That, at least, was something.
He turned and stared back at her, his eyes willing up.
“I must leave for the Tower of Ur,” he said.
Her eyes widened.
“The tower is overrun with trolls,” she said. “To go there would be to go to your death.”
He looked back, unswayed.
“I am already dead.”
Without another word he turned and leapt over the edge, into the dinghy, determined to never lay eyes on her again. He would like, actually, to die a lonely death. After tonight, life for him held nothing in it.
As he rowed, cutting through the waters, distancing himself from the ship, a single cry, a shriek, cut through the darkness.
“Alec!”
It was Dierdre, calling his name. She was crying as she called it. He could hear the sadness in her voice. It was a cry of love, of loss, of what could have been. He wanted more than anything to look back, to see her face one last time.
But he did not dare. Instead, he rowed and looked ahead, saying goodbye, in his mind, to her forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Kavos charged for the legion of Pandesian soldiers who blocked his way to the mountains of Kos, not stopping for anything, ready to fight to the death. How dare these Pandesians invade his homeland, dare to think they could defeat him on his own territory? Those mountains of Kos belonged to his people; they always had. And no invading enemy had ever managed to conquer them. After all, they were now in the land of ice and snow, the land which had stood apart in Escalon for thousands of years. It took a certain type of man to survive in a land of ice and snow—and the men of Kos had it coursing in their blood.
