A Realm of Shadows (3 page)

Kyra braced
herself as she walked into a field of fire. The flames rose to the sky then
lowered just as quickly, turning all different colors, caressing her as she
walked with her arms out by her sides. She felt its intensity, felt it enveloping
her, wrapping her in a thin embrace. She knew she was walking into death, and
yet she could walk no other way.

And yet somehow,
incredibly, she did not feel pain. She felt a sense of peace. A sense of her
life ending.

She looked out
and through the flames, she saw her mother, awaiting her somewhere at the far
end, on the opposite side of the field. She felt a sense of peace, as she
finally knew she would be in her mother’s embrace.

I’m here, Kyra
, she called.
Come
to me
.

Kyra peered into
the flames and could just make out her mother’s face, nearly translucent, partially
hidden as a wall of flame shot up. She walked deeper into the crackling flames,
unable to stop until she was surrounded on all sides.

A roar cut
through the air, even above the sound of the fire, and she looked up and was in
awe to see a sky filled with dragons. They circled and shrieked, and as she
watched, one huge dragon roared and dove down just for her.

Kyra sensed it
was death coming for her.

As the dragon
neared, its talons extended, suddenly the ground dropped out beneath her and Kyra
found herself falling, hurtling down into the earth, an earth filled with
flame, a place from which she knew she would never escape.

Kyra opened her
eyes with a start, breathing hard. She looked all around, wondering where she
was, feeling pain in every corner of her body. She felt the pain in her face,
her cheek swollen, throbbing, and as she slowly lifted her head, finding it hard
to breathe, she found that her face was encased in mud. She was, she realized,
lying face first in the mud, and as she placed her palms in it and slowly
pushed up, she wiped mud back from her face, wondering what was happening.

A sudden roar
ripped through the air, and Kyra looked up and felt a wave of terror as she
spotted something in the sky that was very real. The air was filled with
dragons of all shapes and sizes and colors, all circling, screeching, breathing
fire into the air, filled with fury. As she watched, one swooped down and
breathed a column of flame all the way to the ground.

Kyra looked over
and took in her surroundings, and her heart skipped a beat as she realized where
she was: Andros.

It all came rushing
back to her. She had been flying atop Theon, racing back to Andros to save her father,
when they had been attacked in the sky by that flock of dragons. They had
appeared from nowhere in the sky, had bitten Theon, had thrown them down to the
ground. Kyra realized she must have blacked out.

Now she woke to a
wave of heat, of awful shrieking, of a capital in chaos, and she looked about
and saw the capital aflame. Everywhere, people were running for their lives,
shrieking, as fire descended in waves, like a storm. It looked as if the end of
the world had come.

Kyra heard
labored breathing, and her heart fell to see Theon lying close by, on his side,
wounded, blood pouring from his scales. His eyes were closed, his tongue
hanging out the side of his mouth, and he looked on the verge of death. The
only reason they were still alive, she realized, was that she and Theon were
covered in a mound of rubble. They must have been thrown into a building, which
collapsed on top of them. At least that had kept them sheltered, out of view of
the dragons high above.

Kyra knew she
had to get herself and Theon out of there at once. They hadn’t much time until
they were spotted.

“Theon!” she urged.

She turned and
heaved, crushed by the rubble, and finally managed to shove a huge piece of
rubble off her back, freeing herself. She then hurried over to Theon and frantically
shoved at the mound of rubble atop him. She was able to push off most of the rocks,
yet as she shoved at the large boulder on his back, pinning him down, she got
nowhere. She shoved again and again, yet no matter how hard she tried, it would
not budge.

Kyra ran over
and grabbed Theon’s face, desperate to rouse him. She stroked his scales, and slowly,
to her relief, Theon opened his eyes. Yet he then closed his eyes again, as she
shook him harder.

“Wake up!” Kyra
demanded. “I need you!”

Theon’s eyes
opened again, slightly, then turned and looked over at her. The pain and fury in
his eyes softened as he recognized her. He tried to shift, to get up, but clearly
he was too weak; the boulder pinned him down.

Kyra shoved the
boulder furiously, yet she broke down crying as she realized they could not get
it to move. Theon was stuck. He would die here. And so would she.

Kyra, hearing a
roar, looked up and saw a massive dragon with spiked green scales had spotted
them. It roared with fury, then began to dive right for them.

Leave me.

Kyra heard a voice
reverberating deep inside her. Theon’s voice.

Hide. Go far
from here. While there is still time.

“No!” she cried,
shaking, refusing to leave him.

Go
, he urged.
Or
else we will both die here.

“Then we shall both
die!” she cried, a steely determination overtaking her. She would not abandon
her friend. Not ever.

The sky darkened
and Kyra looked up to see the huge dragon diving down, talons extended. It
opened its mouth, rows of sharpened teeth showing, and she knew she would not
survive. But she did not care. She would not abandon Theon. Death would take
her. But not cowardice. She did not fear dying.

Only not living
well.

Duncan ran with
the others through the streets of Andros, hobbling, trying his best to keep pace
with Aidan, Motley, and the young girl with them, Cassandra, while Aidan’s dog,
White, nipped at his heels and urged him on. Dragging his arm was his old and
trusted commander, Anvin, his new squire Septin by his side, trying his best to
keep him moving, yet clearly in bad shape himself. Duncan could see how injured
his friend was, and it moved him that he had come in this state, had risked his
life and traveled all this way to free him.

The ragtag group
sprinted down the war-torn streets of Andros, chaos erupting all around them,
all the odds against them for survival. On the one hand, Duncan felt so
relieved to be free, so happy to see his son again, so grateful to be with all
of them. Yet as he searched the skies, he also sensed he had left a jail cell
only to be thrown into a sure death. The sky was filled with circling dragons, swooping
down, swiping buildings, destroying the city as they breathed their awful columns
of flame. Entire streets were filled with fire, blocking off the group’s every
turn. As one street at a time was lost, escape from the capital seemed less and
less likely.

Motley clearly knew
these back alleys well, and he led them deftly, turning down one alley after
another, finding shortcuts everywhere, managing to avoid the roving packs of Pandesian
soldiers, which was the other threat to their escape. Yet Motley, for all his
craftiness, could not avoid the dragons, and as he turned them down another alley,
it, too, was suddenly aflame. They all stopped in their tracks, faces burning
from the heat, and retreated.

Duncan
, covered in
sweat as he backed up, looked to Motley, and he took no solace as, this time,
Motley turned every which way, his face etched in panic.

“This way!” Motley
finally said.

He turned and led
them down another side alley, and they ducked beneath a stone arch right before
a dragon filled the spot they had just stood with a fresh wave of fire.

As they ran, it
pained Duncan to see this great city torn apart, this place he had once loved
and defended. He could not help but feel as if Escalon would never be returned
to its former glory. That his homeland was ruined forever.

There came a
shout, and Duncan glanced back over his shoulder to see dozens of Pandesian
soldiers had spotted them. They were chasing them down the alley, closing in,
and Duncan knew they could not fight them—and could not outrun them. The exit
to the city was still far, and their time had run out.

There suddenly came
a great crash—and Duncan looked up to see a dragon swipe the bell tower off the
castle with its talons.

“Look out!” he
yelled.

He lunged
forward and knocked Aidan and the others out of the way right before the
remnants of the tower crashed beside them. A huge chunk of stone landed behind him
with a deafening crash, raising up a pile of dust.

Aidan looked up
at his father, shock and gratitude in his eyes, and Duncan felt a sense of
satisfaction that he had at least saved his son’s life.

Duncan
heard the
muffled shouts, and he turned and realized, with gratitude, that the rubble had
at least blocked the way of the pursuing soldiers.

They kept
running, Duncan struggling to keep up, his weakness and injuries from his imprisonment
gnawing away at him; he was still malnourished, bruised, and beaten, and each
step was a painful effort. Yet he forced himself to go on, if for no other
reason than to make sure his son and his friends survived. He could not let
them down.

They turned a narrow
corner and reached a fork in the alleyways. They paused, all looking to Motley.

“We have to get
out of this city!” Cassandra yelled to Motley, clearly frustrated. “And you don’t
even know where you’re going!”

Motley looked
left, then right, clearly stumped.

“There used to
be a brothel down this alley,” he said, looking to his right. “It leads out the
back of the city.”

“A brothel?” Cassandra
retorted. “Nice company that you keep.”

“I don’t care
what company you keep,” Anvin added, “as long as it gets us out of here.”

“Let’s just hope
it’s not blocked,” Aidan added.

“Let’s go!” Duncan called out.

Motley began to
run again, turning right, out of shape and gasping for breath.

They turned and
followed, all putting their hope in Motley as he ran through the deserted back alleys
of the capital.

They turned
again and again, and finally, they came upon a low stone archway. They all
ducked, running through it, and as they emerged from the other side, Duncan was relieved to find it open up. He was thrilled to see, in the distance, the rear gate
of Andros, and the open plains and desert beyond it. Just beyond the gate stood
dozens of Pandesian horses, tied up, clearly abandoned by their dead riders.

Motley grinned.

“I told you,” he
said.

Duncan
ran with the
others, gaining speed, feeling returned to his old self again, feeling a whole
new rush of hope—when suddenly, there came a cry that pierced his soul.

He stopped short,
listening.

“Wait!” he
called out to the others.

They all stopped
and looked back at him as if he were mad.

Duncan
stood there,
waiting. Could it be? He could have sworn he had heard the voice of his
daughter. Kyra. Was he hearing things?

Of course, he must
have imagined it. How could she possibly be
here
, in Andros? She was far
from here, across Escalon, in the Tower of Ur, safe and sound.

Yet he could not
bring himself to leave after hearing it.

He stood there,
frozen, waiting—and then, he heard it again. His hair stood on end. He was sure
this time. It was Kyra.

“Kyra!” he said
aloud, his eyes widening.

Without thinking,
he turned his back on the others, turned his back on the exit, and ran back
into the flaming city.

“Where are you
going!?” Motley called out behind him.

“Kyra is here!”
he called, still running. “And she’s in danger!”

“Are you mad?”
Motley said, rushing up and grabbing his shoulder. “You run back to a certain
death!”

But Duncan, determined, shoved Motley’s hand away and continued to run.

“A certain
death,” he replied, “would be turning my back on the daughter I love.”

Duncan
did not pause
as he turned down an alleyway alone, sprinting back into death, into a city
aflame. He knew it would mean his death. And he did not care. As long as he
could see Kyra again.

Kyra
, he thought.
Wait
for me.

The Most Holy and
Supreme Ra sat on his golden throne in the capital, in the midst of Andros,
looked down on the chamber filled with his generals, slaves, and supplicants, and
rubbed his palms into the throne’s arms, burning with dissatisfaction. He knew
he should feel victorious, sated, after all he had achieved. After all, Escalon
had been the last holdout of freedom in the world, the last place in his empire
not completely under his subjugation, and in the last few days he had managed
to lead his forces through one of his great routs of all time. He closed his
eyes and smiled, relishing the image of running over the Southern Gate, unimpeded,
of razing all the cities in southern Escalon, of blazing a trail north, all the
way to the capital. He grinned as he reflected that this country, once so bountiful,
was now a massive grave.

In the north,
Escalon, he knew, fared no better. His fleets had managed to flood the great
city of Ur, now but a memory. On the eastern coast, his fleets had taken the Sea
of Tears and destroyed all the port cities along the coast, beginning with Esephus.
Hardly an inch of Escalon lay out of his grasp.

Most of all, Escalon’s
defiant commander, the rabble-rouser who had started all of this, Duncan, lay in a dungeon as Ra’s captive. Indeed, as Ra looked out and watched the sun rise
through the window, he was giddy with excitement at the idea of personally walking
Duncan to the gallows. He would personally pull the cord and watch him die.
He smiled at the thought. Today would be a beautiful day.

Ra’s victory was
complete on all fronts—and yet, still, he did not feel sated. Ra sat there and looked
deep within himself, trying to understand this feeling of dissatisfaction. He
had everything he wanted. What was nagging at him?

Ra had never
felt sated, not in any of his campaigns, not his entire life. There had always
been something burning in him, a desire for more, and more. Even now, he could
feel it. What else could he do to fulfill his desires? he wondered. To make his
victory truly feel complete?

Slowly, a plan
came to him. He could murder every man, woman, and child left in Escalon. He could
rape the women and torture the men first. He smiled wide. Yes, that would help.
In fact, he could start right now.

Ra looked down at
his advisors, hundreds of his best men, all kneeling before him, heads lowered,
none daring to make eye contact. They all stared at the ground soundlessly, as
they should. After all, they were lucky to be in the presence of a god such as
himself.

Ra cleared his
throat.

“Bring me the
ten most beautiful women left in the land of Escalon at once,” he commanded,
his deep voice booming across the chamber.

One of his
servants bowed his head until it touched the marble floor.

“Yes, my lord!” he
said, as he turned and ran off.

Yet as the servant
reached the door it slammed open first, as another servant burst into the
chamber, frantic, running right toward Ra’s throne. All the others in the room
gasped, horrified by the affront. No one dared to ever enter a room, much less
approach Ra, without a formal invitation. Doing so meant a certain death.

The servant
threw himself face-first on the floor, and Ra glared down in disgust.

“Kill him,” he
commanded.

Immediately,
several of his soldiers rushed forward and grabbed the man. They dragged him
away, flailing, and as they did, he cried: “Wait, my awesome Lord! I come bearing
urgent news—news you must hear at once!”

Ra let the man
be dragged away, not caring for the news. The man flailed the entire way, until
finally as he reached the exit, the door about to close, he yelled:

“Duncan has escaped!”

Ra, feeling a
jolt of shock, suddenly raised his right palm. His men stopped, holding the
messenger at the door.

Scowling, Ra slowly
processed the news. He stood and breathed deep. He descended the ivory steps,
one at a time, his golden boots echoing, as he crossed the entire chamber. The
room was silent, filled with tension, as he finally stopped right before the
messenger. With every step he took, Ra could feel his fury rising within him.

“Tell me again,”
Ra commanded, his voice dark and ominous.

The messenger
shook.

“I am most sorry,
my great and holy Supreme Lord,” he said with a shaking voice, “but Duncan has fled. Someone has broken him out of the dungeons. Our men are pursuing him
through the capital even as we speak!”

Ra felt his face
flush, felt the fire burning within him. He clenched his fists. He would not
allow it. He would not allow himself to be robbed of his final piece of
satisfaction.

“Thank you for bringing
me this news,” Ra said.

Ra smiled, and
for a moment the messenger looked relaxed, even began to smile back, puffing
himself up with pride.

Ra
did
reward him. He stepped forward and slowly wrapped his hands around the man’s
neck, then squeezed and squeezed. The man’s eyes bulged in his head and he
reached up and grabbed Ra’s wrists—but was unable to pull them off. Ra knew he
would not be able to. After all, he was just a man, and Ra was the great and
holy Ra, the Man Who Was Once a God.

The man
collapsed to the floor, dead. Yet it still gave Ra little satisfaction.

“Men!” Ra boomed.

His commanders snapped
to attention and looked back with fear.

“Block every
exit to the city! Dispatch every soldier we have to find this Duncan. And while
you’re at it, kill every last man, woman, and child inside the city of Escalon. GO!”

“Yes, Supreme
Lord!” the men replied, as one.

They all raced
from the room, stumbling over each other, each rushing to do their master’s
bidding faster than the others.

Ra turned,
seething, and took a deep breath as he crossed the now empty chamber alone. He
exited out to a broad balcony overlooking the city.

Ra stepped
outside and felt the fresh air as he surveyed the chaotic city below. His
soldiers, he was happy to see, occupied most of it. He wondered where Duncan could be. He admired him, he had to give him that; perhaps he even saw something of
himself in him. Still, Duncan would learn what it meant to cross the great Ra. He
would learn to accept death graciously. He would learn to submit, like the rest
of the world.

Cries began to
ring out, and Ra looked down and saw his men raising swords and spears and stabbing
unsuspecting men and women and children in the back. Per his orders, the
streets began to flow with blood. Ra sighed, contenting himself in this, and taking
some satisfaction in it. All of these Escalonites would learn. It was the same
everywhere he went, in every country he conquered. They would pay for their
commander’s sins.

A sudden noise
cut through the air, though, even above the cries below, startling Ra from his
reverie. He could not understand what it was, or why it disturbed him so much.
It was a low, deep rumble, something like thunder.

Just as he
wondered if he had really heard it, it came again, louder, and he realized it was
not coming from the ground—but from the sky.

Ra looked up,
baffled, peering into the clouds, wondering. The sound came again, and again,
and he knew it was not thunder. It was something much more ominous.

As he examined
the rolling, gray clouds, Ra suddenly saw a sight that he would never forget. He
blinked, certain he was imagining it. But no matter how many times he looked
away, it was still there.

Dragons. An
entire flock.

They descended
for Escalon, talons extended, wings raised, breathing flames of fire. And flying
right for him.

Before he could even
process it, hundreds of his soldiers below were set aflame by the dragons’
breath, shrieking, caught in the columns of fire. Hundreds more groaned as the dragons
tore them to shreds.

As he stood
there, numb with panic, with disbelief, an enormous dragon singled him out. It
aimed for his balcony, raised its talons, and dove.

A moment later,
it sliced the stone in half, just missing him as he ducked. Ra, in a panic,
felt the stone give way beneath his feet.

Moments later he
felt himself falling, flailing, shrieking, down for the ground below. He had
thought he was untouchable, greater than them all.

Yet death, after
all, had found him.