A Realm of Shadows (19 page)

She stood
upright, forcing herself to stand proud and strong, and faced the monster. She
felt bigger than the pain. And she knew she had reached a new level of her
power, the level that she had been most afraid to face, and that nothing on
this planet could harm her now.

Kyra reached
down, laid her two palms on the wound on her stomach, closed her eyes, and
breathed. She took a deep breath in, saw white light rushing through her veins,
into her wound, and she felt the healing power being summoned from deep within
her.

She did not even
need to look down as she opened her eyes. She knew her stomach was now
completely healed. Indeed, she felt stronger than before.

The monster
stared back in utter shock, his mouth agape.

Kyra did not
give Koo a chance to regroup. She stepped forward and kicked him with both feet
in the chest.

The monster
stumbled back into the branches and shrieked as he caught fire, the flames
roaring all around him.

“I refuse your
death sentence,” Kyra said, feeling stronger than she’d ever had, feeling as if
she’d overcome something within herself. “I deserve life.”

The creature, in
a rage, rose to his feet, shrieked, and lunged for her.

But this time, Kyra
felt bigger than herself. As the beast charged, Kyra felt the heat within
consume her, and this time she let it overtake her. She found herself filled
with a power she could scarcely understand, found herself doing things she
never would have been able to before, as she sidestepped, dodging his lightning-fast
strike, and jabbed him in the face with her staff, knocking him flat on his
back.

He jumped back
to his feet and charged, leaping into the air for her. She was faster, though,
able to anticipate it, and she rushed forward and struck him in the stomach, reaching
him first, knocking him flat on his back.

It spun around and
grabbed its staff and jumped to its feet, swinging wildly at her. But Kyra backed
up, dodging him easily, feeling faster, stronger. He raised the staff higher with
both hands, preparing to bring it down for her neck, and she lunged forward and
struck him in the throat.

He dropped his
staff of thorns and this time, she caught it in midair. Koo stood there,
disarmed, shocked, defenseless. And she rushed forward and jabbed the staff
through his heart.

Koo gasped,
mouth open, blood pouring from it, as he looked back at her in utter shock.

Then he dropped
down to its knees, dead.

As he did, the
final wall of thorns opened up, the fire still blazing all around her.

Kyra stepped through
the opening, right before the fire completely consumed the wood.

She had won.
Victory was hers.

Kyra found
herself standing on a ledge, a small plateau high up on a cliff. The horizon
opened up, the sky a twilight streaked with scarlet red, and for the first
time, the entire landscape of Marda unfolded before her. She saw a massive city
spread out before her, a megalopolis. It was a city of death, outlined in shades
of black.

And somewhere
down there, she knew, she just knew, lay the Staff of Truth, waiting for her.

Duncan emerged
from the canyon, flanked by Kavos, Bramthos, Seavig, Anvin and Arthfael and
several hundred of his men, all, he was honored to see, eager to join him on
the most dangerous mission of his life. As they reached the desert floor, Duncan looked and saw, just north, beyond the open field, the massive sprawl of the Pandesian
army. There they camped, a sea of black on the horizon, banners flapping in the
wind, a silhouette in the breaking dawn. The time had come to risk it all, to instigate
them in the open field, and to lure them back down into the canyon.

The mission, Duncan knew, was foolhardy. His chances of luring them down into the canyon were slim; if
they attacked before they could lure them down, they would surely not survive.
And his chances of emerging from the other side of the canyon after doing so
were even more slim. Yet it had to be done. Luring the Pandesians down to the
bottom of the canyon was the only way, and if he died at the bottom, drowned
with them, then so be it.

Duncan
led his men as
they marched through the wasteland, until finally, he motioned. They all came
to a sudden stop, lined up in perfect discipline, their armor softly rattling
in the pre-dawn silence. No sound was audible other than that of a vulture screaming
high overhead, no doubt anticipating the meal to come. Duncan raised his hand
for quiet as the rattling of their armor finally grew still, all of them
standing there, watching Duncan, as he watched the horizon. He was determined
not to make a mistake.

Duncan
watched the
horizon, saw, in the distance, the faint outline of black. There were all the
banners of the Pandesian army, flapping in the wind as far as they could see. He
scanned the skies, saw the dragons had long gone, and he knew the Pandesians
had regrouped, were preparing to attack again. Of course they would: Ra never
forgot an enemy.

Within moments, as
Duncan suspected, a horn sounded. There came another, and another, all the
Pandesian horns echoing each other up and down the ranks. They were horns designed
to intimidate, horns that had been used to vanquish all throughout the Empire,
in every land and country, as the Pandesians obliterated whoever stood before
them. They were horns meant to embolden the Pandesian army, to urge the great
beast to move forward.

And that was
exactly what Duncan wanted.

The Pandesian army
began to march, a great rumble, stretching across the horizon, all heading
right for Duncan and his men. Duncan stood there, his heart slamming, watching
death approach. He willed them closer.

“Hold the line!”
Duncan commanded, feeling the uneasiness amongst his men.

Yet they
listened. He saw some of his younger soldiers antsy, shifting in place. They
would need discipline for this, discipline to hold the line, to face down a
much greater army out in the open field, to let them approach. They would need
more discipline than they’d ever had in their lives.

Duncan
stood there and
waited, the army getting closer with each step, the desert black with soldiers.
The sound of their elephants rumbled above all, followed by the sound of horses.
The sound of soldiers marching trailed that, and then, finally, as they neared,
but a few hundred yards away, there came the sound of their banners, flapping violently
in the desert wind.

As they neared, Duncan could see the hunger in their eyes, the bloodlust. He could also see the greed: for
them, their prey stood helpless before them. They must have assumed that Duncan had come to surrender.

Duncan
watched more of
his men shift uncomfortably, as the Pandesians came nearly a hundred yards
away.

“HOLD THE LINE!”
he boomed.

His men stopped
shifting and stood there, boldly, bravely, facing the oncoming death. Duncan was proud of them. They had to let the much bigger army get closer. They had to
appeal to their sense of greed. In his experience, armies always overreached
when they saw an easy kill. It blinded their judgment.

Finally, when the
Pandesians were fifty yards away, Duncan’s heart slamming in his chest, he shouted:

“RETREAT!”

His men all turned
and sprinted back toward the canyon. Duncan wanted the Pandesians to think that
he had changed his mind and fled in terror.

It worked. Behind
him, as he hoped, there came a great stampede, a great rumbling of elephants
and horses. They were closing in, pursuing them, nearly faster than his men
could run.

Duncan
gasped for air
as he and the others reached the canyon edge and immediately began to descend.
They slipped and slid down the steep wall, navigating the tricky terrain until
they wound their way all the way down to the canyon floor. Duncan craned his
neck and looked up to see the Pandesian army right on their heels, pursuing
them, reaching the edge of the canyon, pausing, and looking down, blood in
their eyes, before resuming their chase and following them down the canyon on
foot.

“TO THE OTHER
SIDE!” Duncan boomed.

His men sprinted
with him across the canyon floor, and Duncan looked over shoulder to see the Pandesians
filing down, filling the canyon, pursuing them, just as he had hoped.

Having done what
he had set out to, Duncan knew the first part was a success. But now came the
hardest part: he’d have to sprint with his men across the canyon and ascend the
other side.

Duncan
reached the far
wall, the rock slippery in his sweaty palms, and looked back, heart pounding,
to see the Pandesians closing in, letting out a shout of victory and bloodlust.

“CLIMB!” he cried.

Duncan
began the climb
with his men, heart pounding, realizing how risky this was. He looked up and
saw the steep ascent before them, and knew that just one slip would mean
falling back down into death’s arms. He wondered if they could make it.

Worse, if Aidan and
the men of Leptus were unsuccessful, if they did not reach Everfall and could
not flood the canyon, then the army behind him would surely kill him, and all
his men. And if they did flood the canyon but if Duncan did not ascend and get out
of the way of the raging waters soon enough, then he and his men could be drowned,
too.

Duncan
suddenly heard
the sound of metal chipping stone, and he turned, alert, to see the Pandesians,
so close now, spears raised. They hurled them, and one just missed Duncan’s exposed back, chipping the stone beside him, and as he looked up and saw how far
they had left to go, he suddenly realized that they would die an even worse
death than he thought.

Alec stood at
the bow of the ship, gripping the rail with one hand and the Unfinished Sword with
the other, ocean spray hitting him in the face as their huge ship rose and fell
in the turbulent waters of the Bay of Death. He had a knot in his stomach as he
reentered his homeland, filled with dread to be entering Escalon again since
the invasion. He knew what was awaiting him, and he felt as if he were sailing
to his death.

The Bay of Death hardly set him at ease, either. He had never sailed a body of water even
remotely like this one, its waters so black, dotted with the white foam caps of
whirlpools, spraying everywhere as the wind ripped off the water. The currents
were wild and unpredictable, throwing their ship from side to side, then
suddenly up and down. They crashed into wave after wave, and he was hardly able
to get his footing.

Alec looked
behind him and took solace in seeing the fleet from the Lost Isles following,
all of them having sailed for days to cross the Sea of Tears. Beside him stood
their leader, while on his other side stood Sovos, all staring intently at the waters
ahead and gripping the rails, knowing life and death hung in the balance.

Alec looked out ahead,
and the sight made his blood run cold. The sky was filled with dragons,
screeching, diving down low then up high again, spitting fire down into the sea
and circling the isle of Knossos, the legendary fort. They rained down fire on
it and smashed it with their talons as if they wanted to tear it to shreds.

Alec watched as a
dragon dove down and with its long talons sliced away a whole section of the
fort. A great rumble followed as boulders rolled down the cliffs and crashed
into the bay.

Down below, in
the waters, the sight was no more reassuring: thousands of trolls floated in
the waters, dead, burned or sliced to death, while hundreds more human warriors
shrieked and fell off the cliffs, trying unsuccessfully to escape the dragons’
wrath.

It was a scene
of chaos and death. Alec studied it confusion, wondering what had happened
here. It appeared that an army of trolls had invaded, had attacked the small isle
of Knossos, and Alec wondered why. He wondered how the trolls could have made
it this far south.

Most of all, he
was stunned by the dragons. He had never seen a real dragon in his life, and he
had not even been truly sure they existed until now. He wondered how they could
have reached Escalon, where they had come from. He wondered how his beloved
country could have changed so quickly. He had left but weeks before, and now it
was a land torn apart, a land he barely recognized, filled with monsters and
death.

Alec felt a
deepening sense of apprehension as he witnessed the power of those beasts. He
clutched the sword in his hand, felt it vibrating, and he looked down at it,
surprised as always. It had begun to glow, and it seemed to be pointing up at the
sky. At the dragons.

Alec felt a rush
of energy flow through his hand, his wrist, his arm, and he wondered. Could a
weapon really harm a dragon? Was he truly meant to wield it? It felt, as he
held it, as if the sword were leading them right into the very heart of chaos
and destruction.

Suddenly, Alec had
a realization. He turned to Sovos.

“This is no
mistake,” he said. “You are sailing us right toward the dragons.”

Sovos nodded
silently, still looking straight ahead, and Alec was mortified.

“But why? Do you
wish to kill us all?”

Sovos ignored
him.

“It is because of
the Sword, isn’t it?” Alec asked, piecing it all together. Alec grabbed his
arm, demanding. “You think this Sword can save us?”

Sovos still
ignored him, and Alec felt a rush of fear and outrage.

“Do you really
expect to attack a flock of dragons with a single sword?” Alec asked. “And do
you expect me to lead that attack?”

Finally, Sovos turned
to him.

“You are the
only hope we have,” he answered gravely.

Alec heard an
awful screech, looked up at the skies, and he felt a sense of awe at the
thought. Looking up at those massive creatures circling high above, those
ancient, primordial beasts who had lived for thousands of years, he could not
conceive how a simple sword could make any difference, could even scratch the
smallest of their scales.

Alec gripped the
Sword tighter.

“And if you’re
wrong?” Alec asked, gulping.

Sovos shook his
head.

“If we are wrong,”
he said, looking grimly out to sea, “then all of us will die. They will find
us, whether it is on Escalon or the Lost Isles. Fleeing is not an option.”

He turned to
Alec and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You must try,
Alec,” he said. “Legend has always told that the sword, if forged, could fend
off a dragon. The time has come to put legend to the test.”

Alec gripped the
rail as a massive wave rolled beneath the ship, raising it up, and he felt sick
as they all came splashing down. Inch by painful inch they sailed closer to the
isle, to the flock of dragons. He heard a sudden thumping down below, and he
searched the waters to see scores of bodies, humans and trolls, floating face-up,
the currents carrying them away. It was a macabre scene, one Alec already
wanted to wipe from his mind.

The currents shifted
strongly, and they skirted Knossos, to the left of the isle, circling behind
it. As they did, Alec narrowed his eyes and spotted two bodies in the water,
flailing amidst the torrential currents. Unlike all the other bodies, these
were alive.

“Survivors!”
Alec called out. “Do you see?”

The others pressed
close and stared into the waters, and finally, they spotted them, too. Alec saw
a man with a short beard and the hardened face of a mercenary floating beside
the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. This unlikely couple were holding
onto each other, keeping each other afloat. And they stared up at the sky in
terror.

Alec looked up,
wondering, and before he could even see it, he heard the ear-splitting roar. He
looked up, horrified, to see a massive dragon, diving down right for them. It
reached out with its talons and opened its great mouth, revealing rows of
sharpened teeth, some of them longer than Alec.

Alec stood there,
trembling, forcing himself to overcome his fear. He felt the Sword pulsing in
his palm, and it gave him strength. He knew this was the time. The time for
courage. The time for life and death. The time to save these people.

As they sailed
ever closer to the dragon, he sensed that he, the smith of this sword, was the only
one who could wield this weapon, who could change the fate of Escalon.

“We all die,” Sovos
said, turning to him, his eyes a piercing blue, aglow with adrenaline and
terror. “The question is, how? This is your moment to decide. Will you die
boldly? Or will you shrink to your death, as a coward?”

Alec stood there,
feeling the power of the Sword ripple through him, up and down his arms,
through his entire body, and he realized how insane this was. He, a lone boy
from a small village, a nobody, facing off with a dragon with a simple sword.

And yet the
dragon dove down, and he felt in his heart he could not let these people die.
He made his decision.

Rushing forward,
Alec jumped up on the beam, ran to the very edge of the rail, placed each foot
firmly on a narrow strip of wood so that he had his footing, and faced the
enemy. Waves splashed at his feet as he stood there, high above the others, legs
apart, firmly planted and holding out the Sword.

The dragon suddenly
looked up at him, forgetting its victims down below, and shrieked, as if
infuriated at the sight of the Sword. It changed course, diving straight down
for Alec instead.

A moment later, it
released a stream of flame.

Alec turned his
head and braced himself, expecting to be burnt alive, and raised the sword out
before him.

Yet suddenly, to
his shock, the flames stopped in midair. They stopped as if hitting a wall, twenty
yards away from him—and then they disappeared.

The dragon
looked just as shocked as Alec was.

Yet still, it
continued to fly, scowling, opening its jaws wider, focusing only on him. It
opened its wings wide and flew ever closer, as if to swallow him. Soon the
dragon was but feet away, Alec’s entire world dark beneath its shadow.

Alec knew this
was his only chance. His heart slamming, suppressing his fear, he shrieked a
great battle cry and leapt from the ship, holding the Sword out before him. He jumped
up, right into the dragon’s mouth, and drove the sword straight up, into the
roof of the dragon’s palate, driving it in with all his might.

Blood poured
down in rivers as the dragon shrieked an awful noise, the vibration of it
ejecting Alec from its mouth and sending him tumbling head over heels into the
sea.

And as he
swirled in the relentless waters of the Bay of Death, the last thing he saw was
the great dragon, so alive but moments before, closing its eyes and plummeting
into the sea, beside him, despite every possible logic, dead.