A Realm of Shadows (15 page)

Dierdre stood in
the rubble of the Tower of Ur, Marco beside her, each bracing themselves as the
nation of trolls burst through the woods and charged right for them. Dierdre
could not fathom how so many trolls could be in Escalon, how they could have
all burst through the Flames. It did not seem possible. Unless, she realized
with dread, the Flames had fallen.

If that were the
case, then Escalon was finished. A country without borders was no country at
all. Without the Flames, Escalon would be nothing but the playground of the
savage Marda. Dierdre knew in that terrible moment that not only was
her
life over, but that all of Escalon would be destroyed. She was wracked with
pain at the thought. What a terrible way for this beautiful land to end, she
thought, its great coastal cities flooded by Pandesian fleets, its great
northern plains overrun by trolls, burning their way south. It was a land
destroyed by fire and water, ravaged from both ends.

Dierdre stood there
and braced herself, the northernmost victim of this terrible plague of trolls, prepared
to die with the rest of her country. She squeezed Marco’s hand, the two of them
able to do nothing but stand there and die. As Dierdre looked death in the
face, she no longer missed her father; on the contrary, she was relieved that she
would soon join him. She did, though, feel filled with regret that she would
never see Kyra again, never know what had happened to her, and that she would
not have a chance to avenge her father’s death.

As the trolls neared,
halberds raised, Dierdre saw the sharpened blades coming down right for her
chest and she anticipated the feeling of pain. She closed her eyes, preparing
for the worst.

Yet moments
later, Dierdre opened her eyes and was in shock not to feel anything, not to
feel steel entering her flesh, or to feel herself being stampeded by trolls. Instead,
she heard a clang, the sound of metal on metal.

Dierdre looked up
and saw a halberd bouncing harmlessly off an invisible shield, inches away from
her face. She watched, baffled, as the trolls all charged and smashed into this
same invisible wall, stopping in their tracks, stumbling and falling all around
her and stampeding each other. It was as if they had run into a wall.

She looked over
and was amazed to see that Marco, beside her, also stood unharmed, as if he too
were protected by this invisible shield. She then saw the army of trolls look
past her, at the tower, in fear. She turned, too, and was amazed at what she
saw.

There, emerging
from the rubble, came a man, stepping up to the highest boulder. He was
encircled by an aura of white light, shining in every direction. As Dierdre examined
him, she was stunned to see that he resembled Kyra, in male form. He looked as
if he could be her father.

Dierdre looked at
his glowing yellow eyes and realized at once what he was: a Watcher. He stood
there with a staff held high, and as he did, light radiated down from it to the
nation of trolls below. The light encircled her and Marco, creating a bubble
around them, sparing them from attack. The light then ripped through the crowd
and smashed hundreds of trolls, sending them flying to the ground. It was like
a wave of fire passing through.

Dierdre,
wondering who this mysterious man was, forever grateful to him for saving her
life, watched as he leapt down off the rubble and landed beside her.

“Stand back,” he
commanded, his voice ancient and firm.

She and Marco retreated
as he stepped forward and fearlessly walked into the incoming mob of trolls. She
watched in awe as he took on an army alone, swinging his staff, each blow
sending sparks of light showering down as he smashed one troll in the ribs, jabbed
another in the neck, slashed another in the chest. He swung his staff so fast
it was a blur, around over his head, then behind his back, knocking out trolls
in every direction in a shower of light.

A horrific shout
cut through the air, and Dierdre turned to see thousands more trolls suddenly
burst through the forest from all sides. The Watcher was soon surrounded on all
sides. He swung his staff in a circle, smashing down the incoming trolls again
and again, creating a wider and wider perimeter—and yet, too many trolls
flooded the place. Dierdre saw him begin to tire.

The trolls pressed
in on him from all sides, and clearly he had not expected such a flood—an
entire nation. She saw him slipping, and she knew he could not last.

She could not
let him die, and she knew Marco would not, either. At the same time, they each raised
their sword and charged, running recklessly into the mob, swinging, fighting
their way to save him. Protected by the bubble, they hacked down trolls on all
sides of them, and soon, they found themselves at his side. All three of them
were inside their shrinking bubble, surrounded, engulfed, the shields wearing
off.

It was a valiant
defense, but it was not enough.

In moments, she
knew, they would be finished.

Aidan’s heart
pounded as his horse galloped across the barren landscape, Anvin beside him, White
running at his feet, and all around them, the hundreds of warriors of Leptus,
led by Leifall. Aidan felt the thrill of riding into battle, felt for the first
time that he was one of the men, truly a warrior. Here he was, riding up front,
preparing to meet the enemy, to save his father. He had been successful in his
mission; thanks to him, the men of Leptus were riding to rescue his father.

The thought of what
lay waiting for him just beyond the horizon, his father, stranded, needing reinforcements,
made Aidan forget his fear. He thought single-mindedly of saving him, of
proving to his father that he was the son he had raised him to be. And that
quelled all his fears. They had been riding for hours since Leptus, and as they
neared the canyon, Aidan heard a rumble in the distance, sounding like thunder.
It was, he knew with a jolt, the sound of battle. Of men killing each other.

It rumbled and
echoed, bouncing off what could only be the walls of the canyon, reverberating
even from here—and as it did, Aidan felt a sense of desperation. He tried to
suppress a feeling of panic as he tried not to imagine the awful things that
could be happening to his father. Were they killing his people? Was he arriving
too late?

Father,
he urged
silently,
wait for us. Hang in there, just a little bit longer.

Aidan thought of
all his father’s men, trapped, thought of Cassandra, and even of Motley. He
knew they were vastly outnumbered, and the idea of them all dying before he
could reach them tore him up inside.

They crested a hill
and the landscape opened before them and in the distance he could see the canyon.
His fears compounded when he heard a crash and watched a huge ledge give away, saw
the cloud of dust. He felt as if he were dying inside as he watched his father’s
men falling into the canyon, shrieking, crushing each other.

It was an awful
sight. He could hear the agony of men dying even from here, and he felt a feeling
of dread as he saw his life flash before him. He had, it seemed, been just a
few minutes too late.

“FORWARD!” Anvin
shrieked, kicking his horse, spurring the other men into action.

The men of
Leptus rode hard, keeping up with him, and Aidan joined, too, his legs chafed
from the horse, his palms burning from gripping the reins. Breathing hard, he
lowered his head and kicked even harder, determined not to let his father die.

They closed in
on the canyon and finally reached its perimeter, all of them coming to a sudden
stop at the edge, before falling over. Aidan looked down, and his heart broke.
There, below, were hundreds of his father’s men, sprawled out in unnatural
positions, crushed on the canyon floor.

Dead.

Yet Aidan’s
heart leapt with hope as he saw a small contingent of his father’s men had
survived the fall, were fighting for their lives, down far below on the canyon
floor—and then his heart soared to see his father down there amongst them,
fighting with a small group of warriors. They were injured, covered in dirt and
dust, their back against a pile of rubble. Yet still, they were alive.

Aidan saw his
father fighting furiously in all directions, surrounded. They were a crippled
force, caught off guard by the collapse of the canyon shelf, and now surrounded
by the enemy. They clearly had but moments until they were completely wiped
out.

Anvin was
already kicking his horse, galloping for the edge of the canyon, taking the
steep slope heading down. Aidan followed with the others, and as he neared, he was
shocked to see how steep it was. He looked straight down, and it seemed to be
an impossible descent.

Yet he watched in
awe as Anvin rode straight down the slope, somehow managing to hang on, somehow,
amazingly, his horse keeping its footing. Eventually, near the bottom, Anvin
straightened as the canyon leveled out.

Inspired, Aidan
followed him, joining all the men of Leptus. His heart pounded in terror as he
held his breath and tried not to look. He rode straight down and felt his
stomach dropping in his throat at the plunge. He wrapped his arms tight around
the mane and was sure he was going to die. He felt at any moment he would fall
straight over the horse’s head and be crushed. The angle was too steep.

Yet he thought
of his father down there and forced himself to hang on. He felt paralyzed with
fear, and tried not to imagine his death, lost in a cloud of dust and men.

Around him, he
heard shouts, and he watched as some of the horses lost their footing, the
angle too steep. They stumbled and fell, tumbling head over heels straight down
the mountain and for their deaths. More than a few of the men following them tripped
over them, and died, too.

Aidan held on, feeling
as if he were riding straight down, praying this hell would end, that he would
not end up like those men. He squeezed his eyes shut and did not expect to
reopen them.

Finally, Aidan
felt his stomach correct, his breathing return to normal, and he opened his
eyes and was amazed to see the terrain had leveled off. He looked out, and was
stunned that he had made it to the canyon’s bottom. He felt overcome with joy,
with victory. He had conquered his fear.

Aidan looked
around and saw that most of the others had made it, too, and Leptus’ army,
hundreds of men, shouted out in victory, all of them racing across the canyon
floor, sounding horns, and heading for his father.

Bant’s men,
fighting his father, all stopped at the sound and turned and watched them come,
surprise and fear in their faces. For the first time, they had been caught off
guard themselves, outflanked in their own territory.

Aidan spotted
his father fighting off three men in the distance; he saw Kavos, Seavig and Bramthos
swinging flails in circles to keep men at bay, and saw Motley holding a shield
and Cassandra a staff and jabbing soldiers who got too close. They were just barely
fending men off who, with every passing moment, pressed in closer all around
them.

Aidan, inspired
by the sight, charged, throwing himself into the fray, Anvin and White by his
side, not even thinking of the consequences.

White reached
them first. He leapt into the air and sank his teeth into the throat of a
soldier who was about to stab Motley. The soldier fell to the ground,
shrieking, and Motley lowered his shield in surprise and relief.

At the same
time, Aidan raised his sword and did not even think twice as he charged for a
soldier who was facing off against Cassandra. The man had just managed to knock
the spear from her hand, and he was about to stab her. Aidan, realizing he
wouldn’t reach him in time, raised his sword and threw it.

It tumbled end
over end, and to his shock, actually lodged itself in the soldier’s back, killing
him. The man collapsed to the ground, face-first, at Cassandra’s feet.

Aidan felt numb.
It was the first time he had ever killed a man, a real, living human being, and
while he was thrilled to save Cassandra, he felt nauseated. It was a surreal
feeling to take another’s life, one of both victory and sadness.

Cassandra looked
back at him, love and admiration in her eyes, a look he had never seen before.
It was a look that made all of this worth it. It emboldened him. Cassandra,
seeing him defenseless, reached down, grabbed a flail from the ground, and threw
it to him, and he snatched it happily in mid-air by the hilt.

With White running
to Cassandra and Motley’s side to help keep them safe, Aidan felt free to ride
off into the crowd, spotting his father. He found him across the canyon, fighting
off three men at once, alternately raising his shield and slashing with his
sword, the clanging ringing out as swords slashed down on his shield and armor.
His father looked injured, weakened, and losing strength by the moment.

Hang on, Father
, Aidan urged.

Anvin rode up
beside him, clearly having the same idea, and the two of them rode, bursting through
the crowd of soldiers, ignoring the fighting all around them and determined
only to reach Duncan in time. Aidan swung his flail furiously, blindly. It
clanged as he rode, smashing into the armor, shields, knocking swords from soldiers’
hands. He did not know how many men he had injured or disarmed, and he did not
stop to check.

Beside him,
Anvin expertly slashed soldiers left and right, parrying blows and dropping
them. They hacked their way through the mob, while all around them the crowd of
Bant’s soldiers began to thin, fighting off attacks from Leptus’ men on all
sides, the fighting now bloody and hand-to-hand. Aidan, thinking of his father,
forced his way through the thick crowd, narrowly dodging the blow of a hatchet,
seeing his father trapped behind a pile of rubble from where the cliff had
collapsed and knowing he had to get to him soon.

Aidan was
finally able to peer through the dust, and his heart quickened to see his
father facing off with Bant, the two of them surrounded by Bant’s men. Clearly,
the pivotal fight of the war was taking place.

Duncan fought
valiantly, he and Bant slashing and parrying, swords clanging off of shields,
driving each other back and forth, neither he nor Bant able to gain an inch—yet
Aidan could see Bant’s other men closing in, tightening the circle, and he knew
his father could be betrayed and die at any moment. He kicked his horse with
all he had, and with one last sprint across the canyon, he closed the gap. He
swung his flail with blind passion with one hand, barely hanging onto the reins
with the other, closing in—when he found himself abruptly blocked by a dozen of
Bant’s men.

Aidan’s horse
slowed when suddenly Anvin came charging beside him, taking on the group. Aidan
found an opening, saw his chance, and burst through the narrow gap, breaking
through the circle to reach his father.

Aidan rode all
the way, bracing himself for a deadly blow as soldiers swung at him and barely
missed, until finally, to his own surprise, he managed to reach the circle of
Bant’s men surrounding his father. He did not know what he would do when he got
there—he just wanted to create a distraction and give his father a chance.

Aidan burst into
the stunned group, his horse trampling men as he charged them from behind. A
few fell, while others turned to see what the commotion was. Aidan raised the
flail and swung and threw it blindly into the group of men, realizing he had to
create a distraction, and men raised their hands to their faces, distracted,
while the long chain and spiked ball knocked the weapons from several of their
hands.

But Aidan
suddenly felt a horrible pain in his side, heard a loud clang in his ears, and
realized he had been smashed by a club and a shield. He fell from his horse
down to the ground, the pain of hitting the ground worse than the blow. On the
ground, weaponless, the other men closed in on him.

There suddenly
came a shout, and Aidan looked up through the group to see his father get a second
wind, clearly energized by the sight of his son. Having the distraction he
needed, his father charged mercilessly into the group of soldiers, hacking
three of them down without even slowing. As he did, his father’s men rallied
around him, all pouncing on the soldiers, who, caught off guard, panicked and
tried to flee.

Aidan turned to
see a soldier raise a hatchet for him, and he knew he would not have time to
react. He braced himself for death.

Suddenly, the
man gasped, and Aidan saw his father standing behind him, his sword run through
the man’s back, while the man dropped down, dead.

Aidan felt his
father’s beefy palm grabbing his chest, quickly dragging him to his feet. His
father embraced him tight, as all around his men fought back, dropping Bant’s
men, the momentum now in their favor. Aidan’s father held Aidan’s head to his
chest, clearly brimming with pride.

And Aidan, too,
for the first time felt himself relax, fill with pride. He had done it. He had
saved his father.

Now the tides
were turning, as all around them the battle raged on. Aidan felt himself shoved
and he turned to see his father push him out of harm’s way, as a soldier
stepped out of the crowd and faced off with him.

Bant.

Duncan
drew his sword
and stepped forward, while a circle of soldiers from both armies formed around
the men as they faced off man-to-man in its last, pivotal battle.

“You should’ve
stayed in Andros,” Bant snarled to Duncan. “It would have been a quicker death.”

“For you, maybe,”
Duncan replied.

The circle grew
thicker as more and more men stopped to watch the decisive battle, the two men
circling each other warily, each waiting for his chance to strike.

“I will kill you
as I did your sons!” Bant cried.

“And I will avenge
the cowardly way you killed them,” Duncan retorted.

They let out a
battle cry and each charged like two old rams, neither slowing, each clearly
unwilling to stop until they killed the other.