A Realm of Shadows (7 page)

A group of
soldiers appeared and interrupted, leading Duncan away on other business, while
at the same time, Motley came over to Aidan’s side, along with Cassandra and
White.

Aidan saw Motley
looking down at him with concern.

“Do you really
think that wise?” Motley asked.

Aidan looked at
him with surprise.

“Were you eavesdropping?”
Aidan asked.

Motley grinned.

“I’m an actor. Eavesdropping
is my trade. Keep no secrets from me, boy. Not after what we’ve been through.”

Aidan sighed,
realizing Motley was who he was.

“Yes,” he admitted.
“I am going. And yes, it was wise.”

White barked at
his feet and jumped up and licked his palm, and Aidan laughed.

“I guess you want
to come, too.”

White wagged his
tail wildly, clearly answering him, and Aidan liked the idea of having the
companionship.

“A foolish
errand, boy,” Motley scoffed. “You may not survive it. What is it with you and
valor? Have you not yet learned your lesson?”

Aidan smiled,
undeterred.

“I have not even
begun
to learn my lesson,” he replied. “And why should it concern you?”

“Why should it
concern me?” Motley asked, offended. “I risked my hide a dozen times to keep you
alive. Does that mean nothing? Do you think I wish to see you dead? I care for
you, boy. God knows why—I shouldn’t—but I do. Maybe it’s your foolish
recklessness. Maybe it’s your naivete, your optimism. In any case, stop this.
Go tell your father you made a mistake and stay here with me and the rest of the
men. There’s safety in numbers. You will die out there alone.”

Aidan shook his
head.

“You just don’t
understand me,” he said. “That is not who I am. There is more danger in trying
to save your life than in being willing to lose it.”

Motley scoffed.

“That sounds
like something from one of those old books of yours. I told you to stop reading
about the past. Those warriors are all dead now. Where did all their valor get
them?”

Aidan frowned.

“Their valor made
their lives worth living, and it is the only reason we even remember their
names today,” Aidan replied.

“And what then is
so great about being remembered?” Motley countered. “Will you really even care if
you are remembered once you are dead?”

Aidan went to
respond, but Motley raised a hand.

“I see there’s
no sense that can be talked into you, boy,” Motley added. “But I will tell you
there is a danger in being a warrior before your time. It is not yet your time.”

“Then when is my
time?” Aidan rebuffed angrily. “When I’m old and gray? Your time comes when it
chooses you—not when you choose it.”

Motley sighed
long and hard.

“I was afraid
you’d say something like that. Something bold and foolish. Very well, then. Since
there’s no changing your mind, at least take this.”

Aidan looked
down and was surprised as Motley reached out and placed something in his hand. He
examined it, baffled, turning it over in his palm. It looked like a piece of curved
ivory.

“What is it?”
Aidan asked.

Motley reached
out and grabbed the two ends of the ivory and separated them, and to Aidan’s
shock, a concealed blade appeared, gleaming.

“A dagger,”
Aidan breathed, in awe.

Motley nodded
with pride.

“As sharp as you’ll
find in the kingdom, and as well hidden.”

He reached up
and clasped Aidan’s shoulder.

“Just be sure to
return it to me. I don’t like to see my weapons lost. Especially stage weapons.
They’re hard to come by, you know.”

Aidan’s eyes
welled with gratitude as he realized Motley’s concern for him. He stepped
forward and hugged Motley, and Motley hugged him back.

Motley then
stepped back.

“I never had a
son, you know,” he said to Aidan, looking down with pride and sadness.

Then, quickly, before
Aidan could respond, he turned and walked away.

Aidan watched
him go, filled with gratitude, seeing what a great friend Motley had become. He
had been wrong, he realized, to have judged him and dismissed him merely
because he was an actor and not a warrior. Motley was, in his own way, a finer warrior
than many of the others here, Aidan realized. He had his own sense of valor.

Aidan heard a
shuffling of feet, and he turned to see Cassandra standing close by, waiting
for him. As she looked at him, he saw something in her eyes he had not seen
before. Something like caring.

“So you are just
going to leave me alone with all these men, are you?” she asked.

Aidan smiled, feeling
a wave of guilt at leaving her.

“My father will
care for you like a daughter,” he replied.

She shook her
head and there flashed in her eyes a glimpse of the defiance, the steel-like
resolve, that had kept her alive on the streets.

“I don’t need
taking care of,” she replied proudly. “I’ve taken care of myself all my life. What
I want is to join you.”

Aidan stared
back, surprised. He wondered if she wanted to go on the journey, or if she
wanted to be with him.

“It is no
journey for you,” he answered.

“And yet it is
for you?” she asked.

He frowned.

“What if you
came and something happened to you?” he asked. “It would be on my head.”

“It is on your
head anyway,” she answered with a smile. “You saved me. I would be dead
otherwise. So anything that happens to me from now on is on your head.”

Aidan shook his
head sadly.

“I will come
back for you,” he said solemnly. “I promise.”

He reached out a
hand, and as she slowly placed hers in his, he felt a thrill at the warmth of
her touch. It made him feel alive, alive in a way he never had before.

She began to
pull her hand away, and as she did, Aidan found himself leaning in. His heart
pounded and, not even fully aware of what he was doing, he placed his lips, so
gently, on hers.

He kissed her,
and as he did, he felt more terrified than he had of any foe, of any battle.
What if she rejected him?

Slowly,
Cassandra leaned back and stared at him, wide-eyed, seeming stunned.

She frowned.

“Why did you do
that?” she demanded, sounding upset.

Aidan gulped, worried
that he had offended her, that he had misread the situation, that she did not
care for him that way after all.

“I’m sorry…” he
mumbled. “I…didn’t mean…to offend you.”

He stood there,
feeling a cold sweat rise up, when suddenly she surprised him by smiling wide.

“Whatever it
was,” she replied, “come back soon. And do it again.”

The Supreme and
Holy Ra fell from his balcony, tumbling through the air after the dragon had sliced
the stone, flailing down toward the stone courtyard far below. He felt his life
flashing before his eyes, saw all his conquests, his triumphs, his victories—and
realized that he was not yet ready to die. He was, he knew, greater than death.
He was The One Who Could Not Die, and as he fell, he became enraged with Death,
determined to vanquish him, determined, at all costs,
not
to die.

Ra looked down
as he fell and saw his soldiers, many on fire, shrieking, running in a panic
through the streets as they tried to get away from the dragons’ flame. It was a
scene of devastation. But even in the devastation, Ra knew, there was hope.
There was always, he knew, a way out.

Ra set his
sights on a group of his men, directly below him, and he twisted and contorted
his body in the air, aiming to fall right for them. It was a good fall, thirty
feet through the air, and he aimed for the top of their heads. He knew that
landing on them would crush their skulls, would drive them into the ground. But
it would also, he knew, mean a cushion for a soft landing for him. It would be
an honor for them, he decided, to die in his service.

As Ra neared the
ground, he suddenly felt his feet impacting their heads, felt his entire body
landing atop them, crushing them. He could hear their bones break beneath him
as they cushioned his fall.

Ra landed,
tumbling to the ground, winded. Yet as he rolled to his feet, he knew, with
great relief, that he was alive, and that nothing was broken. He looked over to
see his men beside him, with broken necks, not so lucky.

Ra grinned. He
felt victorious. He had cheated death.

Filled with fury
at the dragons, which Ra considered a mere nuisance, he strutted through the
streets, bent on vengeance. What bothered him most was not the dragons, but
that Duncan, his great prize, had escaped. Whatever the cost, he had to get him
back.

A great dragon roared,
and Ra looked up to see him diving down straight for him, opening his mouth and
breathing fire. Ra, fearless, quickly grabbed several of his men and threw them
across the courtyard, distracting the dragon. The dragon turned to them, and Ra
used the opportunity to duck behind a stone wall. As the dragon breathed down,
its flames incinerated his men but licked past Ra, protected by the stone.

Ra stood there,
his back up against the wall, and as he saw more and more dragons diving down, he
knew he had to do something quickly. All around him scores of his men, aflame,
shrieked and fell, collapsing to their deaths. He was fast losing his army.

A group of generals
spotted him and ran to his side, cowering around him, taking shelter behind the
stone and awaiting his command. All eyes on him, Ra scanned the courtyard,
momentarily blinded by the sunlight reflecting off the huge golden shields dropped
by his men—and an idea came to him.

“Those shields!”
he commanded.

Ra suddenly ran
out into the open courtyard, fearlessly leading the pack, and his men followed
as he went for the shields. Ra picked one up himself, huge, heavy, and his dozens
of men followed his lead, lining up beside him.

“Crouch!” Ra
commanded.

He dropped to
his knees and held his shield overhead. The others followed, and soon there was
a wall of metal pointing up at the sky.

Another wave of
flames came down, and this time they rolled off the shields and harmlessly
continued on their way. Ra felt the tremendous heat on the other side of the
shield, nearly scorching the back of his hand as he held on. It felt as if it
would burn right through, yet he held on tight.

“HOLD!” he commanded
his men.

Most listened,
but a few, clearly afraid, let go and ran. As they did, they were burned alive.

Finally, the wave
of flames passed, and Ra breathed hard, sweating, elated he was alive.

“TURN THE
SHIELDS!” he commanded.

Ra’s men did as
he commanded, turning the shields, as did he, until they caught the angle of
the sun. They finally caught the rays, and as they did, it reflected a blinding
column of sunlight back up into the sky.

The dragons,
diving down, suddenly recoiled, clearly unable to see. They stopped in mid-air
and swatted at the light with their talons, as if trying to block it out,
trying to see again.

It was just what
he needed. He had stunned the dragons long enough to mobilize his men and
escape from the city. Before he did, though, he knew he had just one more thing
to do.

“General!” he commanded,
turning to one of his long-trusted advisors, a man who had served with him
across the world. “Lead your battalion of men north, out in the open courtyard and
through the northern gates of the city.”

The general
stared back in fear and shock.

“But my Most
Holy Ra,” he began, tremulous, “that would leave my men exposed. We would die.”

Ra nodded.

“True,” he
replied. “Yet you will die here if you defy my command.”

Ra nodded to the
others, and they all drew swords and pointed them at the general.

The general, panic-stricken,
jumped to his feet and shouted orders to his men. Ra watched as he led them, hundreds
of men, marching out in the open square and toward the northern gate of the
city.

“The rest of
you, follow me!” Ra cried.

He turned and
ran, and his thousands of other men followed him for the southern end of Andros, as horns were sounded up and down the city. High above, the dragons began to roar
as the shields were lowered and they were no longer blinded.

As he ran south,
Ra glanced back over his shoulder and watched as the dragons, as he had hoped, fixed
their sights on his exposed general, heading north, alone, with his men. Ra
smiled as the dragons dove down for his decoy. They breathed fire, and his
general shrieked, aflame, as he and all his men ran for the gates, aflame.

Ra turned back
to the Southern Gate, running to freedom. The general and his division were a
small price to pay for his own safety.

They finally all
passed through the Southern Gate, and as they did, Ra breathed easy as he saw
the open stretch of barren land before him. The south lay before him, where, he
knew, Duncan had fled.

Ra mounted the
horse with the golden harness that was quickly led to him.

“ADVANCE!” he commanded.

There came a thunderous
roar as thousands of Pandesian soldiers mounted horses and followed him, racing
south across the barren wasteland, somewhere toward Duncan. This time, Ra would
not let him out of his grasp.