A Realm of Shadows (10 page)

Dierdre and
Marco hiked through the woods as they had for hours, falling into the monotony
of rhythm, of silence, of leaves crunching beneath their feet, each lost in
their own gloom. Dierdre tried to shake away the images that flashed through
her mind—of her father’s death, of Ur being flooded, of her nearly drowning
beneath those waves. And yet every time she closed her eyes and shook her head,
they only came back stronger. She saw herself tumbling through the water, saw
her father’s face, dead, lifeless, staring up at the sky. She saw her beloved
city, all she knew in the world, completely underwater, now nothing more than
another forgotten lake.

Dierdre looked
out at the white, glistening trees of Whitewood, tried to focus on something
else, anything, to take her mind off the past. She still felt herself
trembling, so caught up in her past trauma that it was hard for her to even remember
where she was. She forced herself to focus. Where was she? Where were they
going?

She turned and
saw Marco hiking beside her, and it came rushing back to her: Kyra. They were
heading north, to the Tower of Ur, to find her.

Dierdre looked
at Marco. With his strong chin, broad shoulders, and dark features, he stood much
taller than she, and she took comfort in his presence. There was something
about him—quiet, never boastful, quick to listen—that made it easy to be with.
Most of all, he was always there, by her side, and she realized she could
depend on him. He had become like a rock to her.

Seeing him made
her think of Alec, of the feelings she had felt for his friend, and it brought
up fresh feelings of betrayal at Alec’s having fled. Had Alec survived? she
wondered. If so, where was he now? If death was inevitable in this land, which
it seemed it was, Dierdre could not help but wonder if it would have been
better for Alec to die in glory with the others than to be dead somewhere else.

It all made her
wonder who she could really trust in this world. Marco, she felt, was a man she
could trust. In some ways, he reminded her of her father.

“And what if
your friend is not there?”

Dierdre was
startled by the broken silence. Marco was looking at her, too, clearly jolted
from his own thoughts, black rings beneath his eyes. He looked exhausted, and she
could only wonder what dark thoughts flooded his mind, too.

“She will be,”
Dierdre replied, confident. “Kyra wouldn’t die. She is a survivor.”

Marco shook his
head.

“Perhaps you put
too much faith in your friend,” he said. “She is human, like us. How could she
have survived the attack?”

“The Tower of Ur is far from the city,” Dierdre said. “Perhaps they have not reached her yet.
Besides, she’s not alone. She has her horse and her wolf.”

Marco scoffed.

“And they can
stop an army?”

Dierdre frowned.

“Kyra has more
than that,” she added. “I can’t explain it, but she is special. If anyone can
survive this war, it would be her.”

Marco shook his
head.

“You speak as if
she’s a magical being.”

Dierdre thought
about that, and as he said the words, she realized there was some truth to them.
There
was
something different about Kyra. She couldn’t quite put her
finger on it, but there was something about her that made her seem…special.

“Maybe she is,” Dierdre
finally said, wondering aloud even as she spoke the words.

“And if your
friend is dead?” Marco pressed.

Dierdre sighed.

“Then we have journeyed
north for nothing,” she admitted. “Either way, we will reach the Tower of Ur, and find safety there. The Watchers will take us in.”

“Why would they?”
he asked.

“They must,” she
insisted. “They are a fellowship of the kingdom, after all, and we are under
attack. If nothing else, they will give us food, shelter, and a place to stay
as long as we need it. From there, we can decide.”

He shook his
head.

“Maybe you are
right,” he said, “but maybe you are not. Maybe we should head to the sea, find
a boat, can get as far from Escalon as we can.”

They continued
hiking in silence, the only sound that of the leaves beneath their boots, each
lost in their own thoughts. As more time passed, Dierdre began to feel how
precarious their position was, how little time they might have left alive. She no
longer felt the luxury of time, and she felt an urgency to know more about
Marco.

“Tell me of your
family,” she said tentatively, almost afraid to ask. Normally she would not be
so forthright, but she felt she had no time.

Marco glanced at
her, then looked away as his face dropped.

“My family’s
been dead to me for most of my life,” he said, with the gloom of a person who has
never known and loved his family. “My father was cruel to me ever since I was
born. My mother, well, he oppressed her, too, and she retreated into herself.
That was how she dealt with it. I had always wanted to protect her. But I
couldn’t.”

Dierdre began to
realize the layers of sadness that forged Marco’s character.

“I’m sorry,” she
said.

He shrugged.

“That is in the
past,” he said. “I feel that all the people we look up to betray us at one time
or another. We must look for strength within ourselves, not hope to find it in
others.”

It made her
think of her own father, of their oft-difficult relationship, and it made her
realize that life was a mystery to her. Dierdre realized that she and Marco had
more in common than she thought. They understood each other, in an odd way.
Both of them had been raised without true love in their lives. Only now was she
realizing what a horrible thing that was for a child.

“Neither of us
deserved it,” she finally said.

He nodded slowly
as he walked.

“We don’t always
get we deserve,” he replied. “Sometimes you must take what you deserve in life.
Or sometimes you get it later in life, when you least expect it and least need
it. But even if we don’t get what we deserve in life, that doesn’t mean we can’t
end up
with what we deserve. We have the power to
decide
what we
deserve in life. We have the power to let ourselves have it—even if other
people say we don’t deserve it.”

He kicked at the
leaves as he went.

“Mostly,” he continued,
“we must stop thinking in terms of deserve or not deserve. When we don’t make
demands on the world to give us what we think we deserve, we will find
ourselves less disappointed. I’d rather create what I want in life than demand
the world give me things. The former puts the power into my own hands; the
latter strips it away and puts me at the mercy of the world.”

Dierdre liked
that. The more she thought about it, the more she realized he was right—and
that Marco was a more profound person than she had realized.

“And what do
you
deserve in life, Marco?” she asked, feeling a greater respect for him.

“I deserve it
all,” he said firmly, sounding confident, without missing a beat—and she believed
him. “And why shouldn’t I?” he continued. “Why should I deserve any less than
anyone else?”

He fell silent
and looked to her.

“And you?” he
asked, hesitant.

“I deserve love,”
she answered. “True love. After all, what is more powerful in life?”

He looked at
her, then looked away, and he blushed. Dierdre could see in that moment that he
had feelings for her. He
did
care for her; he was just too scared to say
it. But she saw it in his eyes before he looked away.

They continued
hiking in silence, drifting closer to each other, falling into a comfortable
silence, as hours more passed.

Finally, they
emerged from the wood, and as they did, they both stopped short, stunned at the
sight before them. Dierdre’s breath caught in her throat as she stared out at
the landscape. The image seared itself on her soul—like something out of a
nightmare.

There stood the Tower of Ur, not resplendent, as she had anticipated—but collapsed in a pile of rubble. She
heard herself gasp. What could never be destroyed sat destroyed before her.

Seeing it, Dierdre
felt as if something had collapsed within her. There lay the tower, one of the foundations
of Escalon, destroyed.

Worse, Kyra was nowhere
to be seen. Neither was Andor, or Leo. What awful force could have ripped
through here and done this? she wondered.

Beyond it, in
the distance, Kyra could see the Sea of Sorrow, and her heart fell to see its
waters black with more Pandesian fleets—all sailing toward shore.

They each stood
there in shock and total silence for several minutes. Dierdre felt that all of her
dreams, her hopes for safe haven, were crushed. It seemed there was no place
safe anymore. Most of all, she was filled with sadness for her friend. There was
no way Kyra could have survived this. She must be dead, too. And that left no
hope for her.

“It’s not
possible,” Dierdre heard herself say aloud.

Marco seemed too
stunned to say anything.

Dierdre felt a
tremor—and suddenly there came a tremendous shout from the woods. She turned
and stared with dread at the woodline, and watched in horror as there burst
forth an army of trolls. They came charging out at her, disfigured, grotesque,
huge, halberds raised high, and running right for her.

Dierdre reached
out and grabbed Marco’s hand and squeezed tight. There was little he could do
but squeeze back. The trolls were hardly fifty yards away, closing in fast, and
Dierdre knew in that moment that, for some cruel reason, fate had allowed them
to survive the flood—only to die by a much worse fate.

Duncan, flanked
by Kavos, Bramthos, Seavig and Arthfael, trailed by Motley and Cassandra, led
his army as they marched across the plains, heading south, away from the
shelter of the cave, and somewhere toward the Canyon of Baris. Duncan shifted in his armor, sweating, oppressed by the midday heat, their march feeling as
if it had taken days. The entire army’s armor rattled, its perpetual clinking
the only thing breaking the silence of this long, barren stretch of Escalon.

There was no
shade to be found, nothing here but rock and dirt and the hope of their
destination. It was a risky, exposed march, and yet Duncan knew they had no
choice—they had to get as far away from the capital as they could, had to
distance themselves from the Pandesian army and reach Baris before it was too
late. They had to protect their flank. And Duncan had a score to settle.

Duncan
’s blood boiled
as he thought of Bant, the great traitor. The coward lived on, after selling
out Duncan, clearly having sealed a pact with the Pandesians. Duncan would
teach him the meaning of betraying his fellow countrymen. He would give him a
visit he would never forget, and avenge all the lost lives of his men.

As he marched, Duncan thought of his son Aidan, and wondered if he had been wrong to allow him to join
Anvin on the mission to Leptus. He was so young, and yet he had proved himself,
and was determined. The time came for all boys, Duncan knew, to become men. And
yet that was a crucial mission, one that could determine whether his own army
would succeed. The men of Leptus might not feel compelled to join the cause,
and if they would not come, Duncan knew that his men could find themselves fighting
a losing battle in the canyon.

Duncan
had bigger
problems. He could feel the loss of morale amongst his men, having lost so many
of their brothers on all the campaigns since Volis. Now here they were again,
trekking across this endless landscape only to hope for more battle. It would
be a battle, if they even won, that would only protect their flank and set them
up to fight yet another battle. With dragons circling and the Pandesians
filling his land, an end seemed nowhere in sight. Duncan could not help but
admit to himself that he had doubts, too. Escalon, it seemed, would never be
free again.

Yet Duncan knew from his experience that numbers did not tell the entire story; if he could
strike the Pandesians at the right moment, could take them by surprise using the
vantage point of his homeland’s terrain, maybe, just maybe, he could drive them
into a trap and kill enough of them. If he could just drive them back to the Devil’s
Gulch, he could seal them off, and from there, maybe even find a way to take
the Bridge of Sorrows. He recalled all the legends, stories of a few brave
warriors, well positioned, holding the Devil’s Gulch against thousands. It
would soon be time to put that to the test—if he even made it that far.

Most of all, Duncan’s troubled thoughts turned to Kyra. His heart lifted with pride as he recalled her
flying on Theon, saving him and his men from the burning capital. He had never
been more proud of her. He cringed inside as he thought of her flying to Marda,
a place from which no man had ever ventured. His heart sank as he wondered if
he’d ever see her face again.

Duncan
’s thoughts were
jolted by a sound. At first he thought it was thunder behind them, but when he
turned, he did a double take as he saw the horizon filled with black.

Heart pounding, Duncan stopped and turned with the rest of his army—and as he did, a chorus of Pandesian
horns suddenly filled the air. There, pursuing them, were tens of thousands of
Pandesian soldiers, leaving the capital, marching south. Led, in a procession
of golden chariots, by Ra.

Many of the
Pandesians rode horses, while some even rode elephants, and they sounded the
horns again and again, a sound designed to strike panic into the enemy’s
hearts. It was effective, making it hard to think straight.

Duncan
could feel all
the eyes on him, all his men looking to him for guidance. The Pandesians had
shown up too quickly, before he could reach the safety of the canyon, before he
could secure his flank and lure them into his trap. Duncan turned and saw, on
the horizon, the contours of the canyon, too far to reach in time.

He turned and
faced the incoming Pandesians and knew he would have to fight them here, now, a
much greater army, in the open plain. He summed it up with his professional
eye, and he knew in an instant that there was no way his men, however valiant,
could win.

“Commander?”
came a voice.

Duncan turned to
see Kavos standing beside him, awaiting his command with all his warriors. He
came to a decision. He turned to Kavos and spoke in his most authoritative
voice.

“Take our men
and continue south, for the canyon. I shall take a small group and face off against
this army myself, long enough to distract them, to give you time to make the canyon
safely. It shall give you time to defeat Baris, to hold the canyon and defend
yourselves.”

Kavos looked
back solemnly.

“And you?” he
asked gravely.

Duncan
shook his head.

“I will do what
every commander must do,” he replied. “I shall die with honor and save the bulk
of my men.”

His men all
stared back, somber.

Finally, Kavos stepped
forward.

“A noble choice,
Duncan,” he said. “But we shall not let you make a last stand alone.”

“It is not a request,”
Duncan replied, “but a command. The men need someone to lead them. Take them
and save them.”

“Name someone
else,” Kavos replied, drawing his sword, standing beside Duncan to defend him. “Name
anyone other than I.”

“And I,” Bramthos
said, drawing his sword and joining them, too.

All around him brave
men drew their swords, joining him, having his back, and Duncan was filled with
gratitude and respect for them all.

Finally, seeing
they would not budge, Duncan nodded to Arthfael.

“Very well then,”
he said. “You, Arthfael. Lead the bulk of this army to the canyon. Secure it,
and win a victory for us all.”

Arthfael hesitated
for a moment, then finally nodded and followed his command. A horn sounded, and
in moments he was off, leading nearly all of Duncan’s men forward for the
canyon.

Duncan turned
and faced the Pandesian army, a dozen of his men by his side, holding their
swords bravely—and he himself drew his sword. Death was marching for him, and
he felt not fear, but relief. At least he would die nobly, for a cause, as he
had always hoped to.

“Men,” Duncan
said, “shall we wait for them to reach us? Or shall we bring the war to them?”

His men all
cheered, and as one, all these brave warriors followed him, racing into the
desert landscape, swords raised high, Duncan feeling the familiar rush of
adrenaline as he knew a glorious battle, perhaps the last of his life, awaited him.