A Forge of Valor (16 page)

“Surely,” Kavos answered.

Kavos reached out with the jewel, putting it through the bars, and as the guard reached, Kavos dropped it. The guard squatted down to pick it up, and as he did, Kavos kicked him as hard as he could, through the bars, in the face, knocking him out.

There came a sudden commotion as all the prisoners around him rushed forward, excited. Kavos lunged through the bars and grabbed the body, just able to reach it. He then dragged him forward, reached for the guard’s belt and grabbed his keys. All the men around him cheered as he quickly unlocked it with shaking hands.

The heavy iron squeaked as they pushed it open.

Kavos  stopped at the cell door, looking out, seeing the Pandesians in the distance who luckily hadn’t spotted them yet. All the prisoners stopped at the door behind him, unsure. Kavos  turned and faced them.

“Men,” he called out, “we’re unarmed. We have two choices. We can flee to our homes, escape from the capital, and go as far and as fast as we can. Or we can do what warriors do, what men of Escalon do: kill these invaders, strip their arms, and rescue our commander! We will likely die trying. But we shall die with honor! Are you with me?!”

There came a great cheer. As one, the prisoners stampeded out of the gate, a unified force, all rushing for the Pandesians, all prepared to fight to the death. They would either die on this field, or Andros would be theirs.

Duncan
, Kavos thought.
Hang in there. We’re coming for you.

Aidan stood with Motley atop the makeshift stage, a huge wooden platform in the center of Andros, and he looked out at the sea of faces. He stood there, frozen. For the first time in his life, he experienced stage fright. He had never gone anywhere near a stage before, had never even met an actor before meeting Motley, and as he stood there, part of the play, looking out at the crowd, everyone looking back at him, he had never felt so self-conscious in his life. He wanted to curl up and die.

As he stood there, unable to remember his line, Aidan had a whole new respect for actors. In their own way, he realized, they were fearless warriors. It took courage to face this crowd of strangers, more courage than he had, more courage, even, than it took his father and his men to raise their swords.

Motley turned and faced him, clearly annoyed, and repeated his line:

“Do you really think Escalon can serve him?” he prodded.

Aidan had tunnel vision. The world slowed as he saw several actors in one corner of the stage juggling multicolored balls, and several actors in another corner twirling flaming torches across the stage. He knew he had a part in this play, but he just could not, for the life of him, remember what it was.

Finally, Motley must have realized he was blanking, because he stepped up and draped a hand on Aidan’s shoulder.

“I can see that you do,” Motley boomed out to the crowd, saving him. “I am glad to serve the Supreme and Holy Ra, as are we all. He has glorified our homeland with his visit. Don’t you think?”

Aidan knew this was his cue, that he was supposed to say something. But he forgot what it was. He felt all the eyes on him, and he wished he were invisible. This was a stupid plan, he realized now, thinking they could use their entertainment to distract the Pandesians, to get them into the heart of the capital, closer to his father, to save him. It had gotten them closer, but Aidan didn’t see how this could ever work. It had allowed them access to the center of the capital, and Motley had been right: it seemed the entire city was riveted. It was the distraction he needed. Yet he couldn’t remember, with all these eyes upon him, what he was supposed to do.

“Yes,” he finally said, his voice cracking.

The crowd burst into laughter, clearly realizing that Aidan had forgot his lines, and Aidan reddened; he had never felt more humiliated.

“And you will serve him forever?” Motley prodded, secretly nodding yes.

“Yes,” Aidan said again.

Motley faced the crowd and grinned.

“A man of many words!” he called out.

The crowd roared with laughter.

A group of actors suddenly rushed forward and joined them on stage, juggling torches, signaling that this part of the play was over. As they did, Motley gestured to Aidan, who rushed over to him.

“Now’s the time,” Motley whispered urgently. “Move quickly!”

Aidan snapped back to the present, remembered their master plan, why they were here in the first place. With the crowd distracted, he quickly slinked away, taking cover behind the new actors, and exited from the rear of the stage.

Aidan’s heart was slamming as he bolted from the stage, jumping down, hitting the ground hard and stumbling to the ground. He scrambled to his knees and ran to a dark corner behind the stage, where he collected himself, breathing hard, sweating.

He looked everywhere, his palms sweaty, trying to recall the plan. It was hard to think straight.

His father. The dungeons. The guards….

White, waiting in the shadows of the stage, immediately came up beside him. Aidan knelt down before him and stroked his head.

“You stay here, boy,” he said. “I can’t have you coming where I’m going. Wait for Motley. He’ll bring you.”

White licked his face in return.

Aidan realized he had no time left to lose. He burst back into action, heart pounding with excitement, realizing how close his father was. He sprinted down dark alleys, twisting and turning through the back streets of Andros, heading toward the low, stone building in the distance which he knew held the dungeon.

He finally stopped nearby and crouched in the shadows, breathing hard, as he looked over and studied a Pandesian soldier standing guard at the imposing iron gates to the dungeon. Aidan racked his brain, wondering how to get past the guard. He had hoped, with the whole city watching the play, that the guards would be, too. But he was wrong. He could not overpower this man, and he didn’t see any way past him.

Aidan thought hard and realized he needed to cause a distraction. He reached down and felt the pouch of silver coins at his waist, the ones Motley had given him, just in case. He crept closer along the wall and when he was but a few feet away, he reached out and flung the sack with all his might.

It landed in the courtyard, about ten feet from the guard, and the silver coins spilled out and clinked all over the cobblestone.

The soldier jumped. He rushed over to the noise, and Aidan held his breath while he looked about suspiciously.

This was his chance. Aidan raced for the open gate, his heart slamming. He began to rush through it—when suddenly he heard footsteps right behind him and felt a rough hand on his shoulder. He felt himself being yanked back, and he turned to see the angry face of the Pandesian soldier, dressed in blue and yellow armor, staring him down.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded. “Who are you?”

Aidan stood there, speechless, unsure what to say.

The soldier leaned in close, pulled a dagger from his waist, and began to raise it. Aidan cringed, realizing this would end badly. He had no way out, and didn’t know what to say.

“You were trying to sneak into the dungeons. Why?” the soldier demanded. “Trying to rescue someone, are you? Who?”

Aidan struggled to break free, but it was no use. The soldier was too strong. He raised his dagger, preparing to slice Aidan’s throat, and Aidan was certain his time had come. What pained him most was not the thought of dying, but rather being so close to freeing his father—and failing.

Aidan spotted motion out of the corner of his eye, and then it all happened so fast; he saw long, strawberry hair, then saw a short girl grab the soldier’s arm and snap his wrist. The soldier shrieked, dropping his knife.

The girl immediately grabbed it and in one quick motion, sank it into his heart.

The soldier gasped and dropped to his knees, a shocked expression on his face, seeming more surprised that a young, small girl could kill him than by the fact that he was dying. The girl pulled out the dagger and quickly sliced his throat, and he dropped down to the ground face first, dead.

Aidan stood there, stunned, realizing his life had been saved and not understanding why, or who this person was. She faced him, and as he looked closely, he began to recognize the girl’s features. Beneath the dirt on her face and clothes she was disarmingly pretty, about his age, with sparkling blue eyes and strong cheekbones. He knew her, but could not remember from where.

“Don’t you remember me?” she asked.

Aidan shook his head, trying.

“You helped me once,” she said. “You gave me your coins.”

She held out a sack of gold coins, and he suddenly remembered. The beggar girl. The one he had given all his money to.
Cassandra.

She smiled.

“I meant what I said,” Cassandra said, “about paying you back. Consider us even.”

Aidan looked at her with overwhelming gratitude, unsure what to say. He glanced back over his shoulder, saw the open cell to the dungeons, and he knew this was his chance.

“Don’t most people try to run
away
from a dungeon?” she asked with a smirk.

“My father’s in there,” Aidan replied, in a rush.

“And you really think you will free him?” she asked. “That he will be unguarded?”

Aidan realized as she uttered the words how stupid his plan was. But it was too late now. There was no other choice.

He shrugged.

“I must try,” he said, preparing to go. “It’s my father.”

She examined him, as if wondering if he were crazy, then finally shook her head.

“Okay then,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

Aidan’s eyes lifted in surprise.

“Why would you help me?” he asked.

She smiled back.

“I like the risk,” she said, “and I like the cause. And I
really
hate the Pandesians.”

There came a commotion and Aidan turned and saw over his shoulder a dozen Pandesian soldiers appearing from the courtyard, rushing right for them. He looked toward the dungeons, and was horrified to see a dozen more soldiers charging from the other side.

He turned and looked at Cassandra, and she looked back at him with an equal expression of horror.

They were trapped.

Kyra walked slowly through the mist, arms out at her side, as she entered an obscured forest path. She passed low, thick trees with gnarled branches, twisting and turning, reaching out for her. They created an archway, a path covering her head, leading deeper and deeper into the gloom and fog. It was a path she felt she had been walking forever.

The path opened and Kyra found herself in a small clearing, the fog thicker here. Before her sat a small stone cottage, torchlight flickering from inside, a beacon amidst the thickening fog. Kyra wondered who could be inside, who could live in such an eerie place, here in the midst of nowhere, inside a mysterious, ancient forest.

Slowly, its weathered, oak door creaked open, and there emerged a figure who stood before her, staring back, but a few feet away. Kyra blinked and could hardly believe her eyes. It was
her
. She faced
herself
.

Standing there was an exact replica of herself, facing her, blinking back. It was the most frightening thing Kyra had ever seen.

“Are you worthy?” her replica asked.

Kyra stared back, wondering. It was her face she stared at; it was her voice, her gestures, her body, and she did not know how to respond.

“Are you worthy?” the girl repeated.

“I don’t understand,” Kyra replied.

“Are you worthy of becoming the warrior Escalon needs you to be?” the girl asked.

Kyra blinked, confused.

“I
am
worthy,” Kyra finally replied.

The girl suddenly pulled out a staff, and Kyra was shocked to see it was just like hers. Kyra reached for her own staff, as the girl suddenly charged and attacked her.

Kyra blocked it, the clanging of metal echoing through the forest, as the girl swung for her again and again. The two fought, perfectly matched, driving each other back and forth through the clearing, neither able to gain an advantage. They anticipated every blow, and neither could find an opening.

Kyra, drenched in sweat, felt locked in a battle that seemed as if it would last forever. She was battling herself, she realized, and she did not know how to do that.

Just as she thought the fighting would never end Kyra lowered her staff just a bit, and suddenly, to her surprise, her staff was knocked from her hand. Her replica unscrewed the end of her staff, revealing a blade, and suddenly stepped forward and stabbed Kyra in the gut.

Kyra gasped, the pain so severe she couldn’t even speak.

“Are you worthy?” the girl asked, staring intensely into her eyes.

Kyra gasped as she stared back, speechless, knowing she was dying.

Kyra sat up, shrieking, covered in a cold sweat, reaching for her stomach. She breathed hard, looking all about her, and it took her several minutes to realize she had been dreaming.

Kyra ran a hand over her stomach, and she still felt the pain from her dream, as it if were real. She massaged it, trying to find the wound, and was baffled to find none.

Kyra felt she was lying on something uncomfortable, and she looked down and saw hard stone beneath her. Her body aching, she sat up, twisted and turned, and looked all around, disoriented, wondering where she was. It was twilight, and as she peered into the light, the landscape so foreign, it took her a few moments to realize she was in a place she had never been before. She blinked several times, trying to remember.

She recalled a battle. Fighting against the Pandesians. Trying to reach Andros, to save her father. She had been surrounded, outnumbered, and she had been growing weak. She recalled being knocked down, losing consciousness, and then…Kyle appearing. Helping her.

Kyra vaguely remembered being put on the back of Andor, and as she heard a snort, she wheeled. Her heart leapt with delight to see Andor, chewing a patch of moss about ten feet away; at the same time, she felt something soft and furry lean against her, and she looked to her other side to find Leo licking her palm. She was relieved to her old friends here, with her.