A Realm of Shadows (8 page)

Alec stood at
the bow of the ship as they sailed out of the Lost Isles, navigating around the
strange outcroppings of barren rock, the seagrass making a strange noise as it
brushed up against the hull. The water was as still as could be, eerily calm. Mist
rose off it, casting a magical light, and it all felt surreal to him as he sailed
at the head of a fleet. Behind him, all the men of the Lost Isles followed him
as he sailed out into the Sea of Tears.

Alec felt the
humming in his hand, and he looked down, awestruck, at the magnificent weapon he
was holding. The Unfinished Sword. It felt surreal to be holding it. He raised it
up to the light, barely paying attention to the water all around him, fixated
only by this magnificent piece of metal. He twisted and turned it as he held it
high, the light reflecting off it in a magical way, and he felt it was greater
than him. Greater than all of them.

Alec marveled at
it. It was the greatest weapon he had ever held, the only weapon he had ever
wielded that he did not fully understand, that felt bigger than he. It was a weapon
of such extraordinary beauty, extraordinary magic, that he hardly even knew
what to make of it. He knew he had helped forge it, yet a part of felt him that
it wasn’t his creation at all. He squeezed the hilt, interlaced with rubies and
diamonds, studied the strange inscriptions on its blade, ancient, mysterious, and
knew its origins lay somewhere in history, thousands of years ago. He could
only wonder who had begun this weapon—and why it had been unfinished. Had Sovos’
words been true? Did Alex really have a special destiny?

Alec glanced
back over his shoulder, saw his large wooden ship filled with hundreds of
islanders, as were all the other ships in the fleet, and he felt the pressure
on him. Where exactly were they all heading? Why did they need him? What would his
role would be in all this? He did not fully understand it, but he sensed that,
for the first time in his life, he was caught up in a destiny bigger than himself.

“They have never
left the isles before, you know,” came a voice.

Alec turned to
see Sovos standing beside him, looking down at him with a serious expression, dressed
in his aristocratic outfit. He remained as mysterious to Alec as he had been on
the day they had met in Ur.

Alec was
surprised to hear that.

“Never?” he
asked, turning and surveying the warriors of the Lost Isles.

Sovos  shook his
head.

“They’ve never
had cause to leave. Not until this day. Not until you finished forging the
sword.”

Alec felt the
weight of responsibility.

“I don’t feel
like I finished it,” he replied. “Something just came to me and I followed a
hunch.”

“It was more
than a hunch,” Sovos corrected. “Only
you
could forge it.”

Alec felt
frustrated.

“But I still don’t
understand how I did it.”

“Sometimes we
don’t understand all that we do,” Sovos replied. “Sometimes we are just the
channel, and we must be grateful for that. Sometimes we harness forces greater than
ourselves, forces that we shall never understand. We all have a role to play.”

Sovos turned and
looked out at the sea, and Alec studied it, too. The mist was beginning to burn
off the water as they began to leave the archipelago of the Lost Isles and head
out to sea. The waters were becoming rougher, too.

“Where are we sailing?”
Alec asked. “Where are they bringing the sword?”

Sovos studied
the sea.

“It is not them,”
he replied. “But
you
. You are leading them.”

Alec looked
back, shocked.

“Leading them?
Me? I don’t even know where we’re going.”

“To Escalon, of
course.”

Alec’s eyes
widened.

“Why? Escalon is
overrun. The Pandesians inhabit it now. To sail back there would be to sail to
our deaths!”

Sovos continued
to study the sea, expressionless.

“It is far worse
than you think,” he said. “The dragons have arrived in Escalon, too.”

Alec’s eyes widened
again.

“The dragons?”
he asked, astounded.

“They’ve flown thousands
of miles and crossed the great sea,” Sovos continued. “And they have come for
one special thing.”

“What?” Alec
asked.

But Sovos ignored
his question.

The current
picked up, and Alec felt a tightness in his chest as he thought about their sailing
closer and closer to Escalon, to a land filled with dragons and inhabited by
Pandesian soldiers.

“Why would we
sail to our deaths?” he pressed.

Sovos finally turned
to him.

“Because of what
you hold in your hand,” he replied. “It is all that Escalon has left now.”

Alec looked down
at the sword in his palm with an even greater sense of awe and wonder.

“You really
think this small piece of metal will have any effect against Pandesia? Against
a host of dragons?” he asked, dreading the journey before them. For the first
time in his life, Alec felt certain that he was heading to his death.

“Sometimes, my
dear boy,” Sovos said, laying a hand on his shoulder, “a small piece of metal
is the only hope there is.”

Merk looked out at
the Three Daggers as they sailed past them, craggy islands emerging from the bay,
steep, vertical, and devoid of life. Covered in strange, angry black birds with
large red eyes that cawed fiercely at them as they passed, the isles were
covered in the mist of the bay, the relentless waves of the Bay of Death
smashing up against them as if trying to knock them back into the sea. It sent up
clouds of white foam and mist toward Merk’s boat, dousing it, and he studied
the scene in wonder. He was grateful he was not to be stranded here, the most desolate
and unforgiving place he had ever seen. It made the Devil’s Finger seem
hospitable.

“The Three Daggers,”
came the voice.

Merk turned to
see Lorna standing beside him, holding the rail, studying the sea with her large,
glowing blue eyes, silvery-blonde hair. She stood there calmly, despite the violent
currents of the Bay of Death, a beacon of life against the bleak landscape,
staring out at the sea as if she and the waters were one.

“The isles said
to be forged by the great goddess Inka. Legend tells she spewed forth her anger
from the sea when looking for her three lost daughters,” she added. “Beyond the
third lies the isle of Knossos.”

Merk looked out
and saw, just beyond the third rocky isle, an isle of cliffs rising straight
out of the sea, ringed by a narrow, rocky shore. At its top was a flat plateau,
and atop this sat a fort built a hundred feet high. It was squat, square, gray,
and adorned with ancient battlements; its walls had long, narrow slits cut in
them, behind which Merk could see the tips of glistening arrows at the ready.  The
fort was a stout, ugly thing, as if one with the rock itself, sprayed by mist
and wind and breaking waves, and taking it all in stride.

Even more
impressive were the warriors that Merk spotted as they sailed closer. The wind
and the currents carried them at full speed now, right for its shores, and soon
Merk could see their hardened faces staring out. He could see even from here
that they were the faces of surly men, men who had no joy in life. They lined
the battlements like goats, hundreds of them, peering out into the sea as if eagerly
awaiting an enemy.

They were the
hardest-looking men Merk had ever seen—and that was saying a lot. They were donned
in gray armor, with gray swords and gray helmets, the same color of the rock behind
them, their visors pulled down, narrow slits for eyes looking out behind the
helmets. These men looked as if they, too, had been forged from the rock. They
were men who did not even budge when a gale of wind arrived that was strong
enough to turn Merk’s boat sideways. They looked as if they were rooted to the
place, a part of the very earth itself.

Here, at last, was
Knossos, the last outpost off the last peninsula of Escalon, right in the center
of the swirling waters of the Bay of Death. It was the most remote place Merk had
ever seen, and clearly not for the faint of heart.

“What is their
purpose of this place?” Merk asked. “What do they defend?”

Lorna shook her
head, still looking out.

“There are many
things you have yet to understand,” she replied. “We all have a role to play in
the coming war.”

As they neared,
Merk found himself silently reaching under his shirt and gripping his dagger,
though he knew it would do no good. It was an old habit he had, whenever he was
nervous. He saw the long bows over these warriors’ shoulders, saw the strange
weapons they held in their hands—long, dangling chains with spikes at the end—and
he knew he was vastly outnumbered. It made him feel vulnerable. It was a
feeling he had rarely felt before—he had always made a point of planning ahead,
of never putting himself in such a position.

The currents
picked up and their ship soon touched the shore, a hard bump onto the craggy
beach. Without pausing, Lorna jumped off and landed on the sand, walking
gracefully, not missing a beat, while Merk fumbled to get off the edge of the
ship as it rocked. He landed clumsily behind her, his boots splashing in the freezing
waters as he tried to catch up.

He followed Lorna
as she approached a group of waiting soldiers and stopped before one,
apparently their commander, standing out front before the others, nearly twice Merk’s
size. The soldier looked graciously down at Lorna but then looked over at Merk
and scowled down at him as if he were intruding. Merk tightened his grip on his
dagger.

The soldier
turned back to Lorna and half-bowed.

“My lady,” he
said deferentially.

“Thurn,” she
replied. Are my Watchers safe?” she asked.

He nodded back.

“Every one of
them,” he replied. He turned to Merk. “And who is this beside you?” he asked, tightening
his grip on his chain.

“A friend,” she replied.
“He’s not to be harmed.”

The soldier
reluctantly tore his gaze from Merk and looked back at her. Merk did not like being
on this isle, but he did like hearing the word
friend
. He’d never had
anyone call him a friend before, and for some reason, it touched him. The more
he thought about it, the more he realized he felt a strong connection to Lorna,
too. He wondered if she were just using the term, or if she genuinely felt the
same way about him.

“An army of trolls
follows on our heels,” she said, in a rush. “We cannot defend. Not even you. Come
with us to the mainland. We shall continue the battle in Escalon.”

The soldier
stared back at her solemnly.

“We are of Knossos,” he replied. “We retreat from no enemy.”

“Even if death
is certain?” she pressed.

“
Especially
if death is certain,” he replied. “To run would be to lose our honor—and honor
is more sacred than life. Take your Watchers and go to the mainland. We shall make
our stand here.”

Lorna sighed,
clearly frustrated.

“You would be killed
here for harboring my people. I cannot allow that.”

“We would be
killed for doing our duty,” he replied.

Lorna frowned,
realizing she was getting nowhere.

“Don’t you
understand?” she added. “You face monsters. Not humans. Trolls—honorless, nasty
creatures. They have no regard for life. They are crossing the Bay of Death and will soon surround this fort. Now is your chance to escape. Leave, and
live to fight another day, in another place, on your terms. There are other
ways to win. To stay here means death.”

For the first
time, the soldier grinned, as he looked out and scanned the horizon behind her.

“An honorable
death, encircled by my foes,” he replied, “is all I have ever prayed for. All
that my men have ever prayed for. The gods have answered our prayers on this
day.”

Behind him, all
the warriors of Knossos, all lined up with perfect discipline, suddenly raised
their chains high in the air and grunted in agreement. They all stared back
through the metal slats of their helmets, fearless.

Merk had never
seen such a display of courage, and he was moved by it. For the first time in
his life, he felt as if here, on this isle, with these men, he was part of
something greater, of the cause he had so desperately sought.

Lorna turned to
Merk, looking resigned.

“Go,” she said. “Sail
our ship to the mainland. Go to Leptus. You will be safe there. You can make
your way to the capital and fight for our cause.”

Merk was filled with
admiration for her as he realized she meant to stay here.

He slowly shook
his head, having already come to his own conclusion. Instead, he turned to Thurn
and smiled.

“You intend to fight
to the death, do you not?” he asked.

Thurn nodded back.

“I do,” he replied.

Merk grinned.

“How heavy are
those chains?” he asked.

Thurn looked
down, seemingly surprised at the question, then finally, realizing that Merk
meant to stay, he stared back approvingly. He nodded, and a soldier rushed
forward and handed Merk an extra chain and spike.

Merk tested the
weight of it; it was heavier than he thought. He swung it around and was amazed
to see the iron spike at the end swing overhead like lightning. It made a
high-pitched whistling noise as it swung. It was an unusual and substantial
weapon, and he was impressed.

“Want one more
man?” he asked.

For the first time,
Thurn grinned back at Merk.

“I suppose,” he
replied, “we can always make room.”