Rise of the Dragons (19 page)

Kyra walked through the winding streets
of the fort, snow crunching beneath her boots, Leo at her side, in a daze after
her first battle. It had all happened more quickly than she had imagined, had
been more vicious, more bloody, more intense than she could have foreseen. Men
died, good men, men she had known all her life, in horrible and painful ways.
Fathers and brothers and husbands now lay dead in the snow, their corpses piled
outside of the fort’s gates, the ground too hard to bury them.

She closed her eyes and tried to shake
out the images.

It had been a great victory, and yet it
also humbled her, made her see how real, how intense battle was, and how
fragile life could be. It had shown her how easily men could die—and how easily
she could take a man’s life. Both of which were equally frightening.

Being a great warrior was what she had
always wanted, more than anything; yet she also could see now that it came with
a heavy price. Valor was what she strived for, yet there was nothing easy about
valor. Unlike the spoils of war, it was not something she could hold in her
grasp. But it was always there, just out of reach. Where was this thing called
valor? Where had it gone?

More than anything, it made her wonder
about herself, her new power, which had come from out of nowhere and which
seemed to have disappeared just as quickly. She tried to summon it again, but
could not. What was it? Where did it come from? Kyra feared what she didn’t
understand, what she couldn’t control.

As Kyra walked the streets, she was
puzzled by her townsfolk’s reaction. After the battle, she had expected them to
be panicked, to be boarding up their homes, or getting ready to leave the fort.
After all, they had killed the Lord’s Men, and surely a great and terrible army
would be coming for them all. It might be the next day, or the day after that,
or the week after that—but it was coming. They were all walking dead men. How
could they not be afraid?

Yet as she mingled with her people, Kyra
saw nothing of the sort. On the contrary, she saw a jubilant people, energized,
rejuvenated; she saw a people that had been set free. They bustled in every
direction, clapping each other on the back, celebrating—and preparing with a
renewed energy. They sharpened weapons, strengthened gates, piled rocks high,
stored food, bustled about with a great sense of purpose. Hers was a people
with an iron will, a people not easily deterred. In fact, it was almost as if
they all looked forward to the next confrontation, however grim the odds.

Yet she also noticed something else
amongst her people, something which left her feeling uncomfortable: the new way
they looked at her. Clearly word had spread of what she had done, and she could
feel the whispers behind her back. They looked at her as if she were not of
them, these people she had known and loved her entire life. It made her feel
unsettled; it made her feel as if this were no longer her home—and that she did
not know where her true home was.

Kyra walked over to the thick stone wall
of the ramparts and climbed the stone steps, Leo right behind her, taking them
to the upper levels. She passed all her father’s men, standing guard every
twenty feet or so, and she could see they all looked at her differently now.
She saw a new respect in their eyes. It was as if she were one of their own.
And that, more than anything, made it all worth it for her. Yet she also saw
that same suspicion that made her queasy.

Kyra turned the corner and in the
distance, standing above the arched gates, looking out over the countryside
like an eagle peering into the horizon, she saw the man she was looking for:
her father. He stood there, hands on his hips, several of his men around him,
gazing out into the rising snow. He blinked into the wind, unfazed by it—or by
his fresh wounds from battle.

Her father turned as she approached. He
gestured to his men, and they all walked off, leaving them alone. Leo rushed
forward and licked his hand, and her father stroked his head.

Kyra stood there, facing her father
alone, and she did not know what to say. He looked back at her, expressionless,
and she could not tell if he was angry with her, proud of her, or both. He was
a complicated man in the most simple of times—and these were not simple times.
His face was hard, like the mountains beyond them, and as white as the snow
that fell, and he looked like the ancient stone that had stood here for a
thousand years. She did not know if he was of this place, or if this place was
of him.

He turned and looked back out at the
countryside, and she stood beside him, looking out, too. They shared the
silence, punctuated only by the wind, as she waited for him to be ready.

“I used to think that our safety, our
secure life here, was more important than freedom. But today, I realized I was
wrong. You have taught me what I have forgotten: that freedom, that honor, is
worth more than all.”

He smiled as he looked over at her, and
she was relieved to see warmth in his eyes.

“You have given us a great gift on this
day,” he said. “You have reminded us what honor means.”

She smiled, touched by his words,
relieved he was not upset with her. She felt that the rift in their
relationship had been repaired.

“It is hard to see men die,” he said,
reflective, looking back out at the countryside. “Even for me.”

A long silence followed, and Kyra
wondered if he would bring up her powers, what had happened; she sensed that he
wanted to. She wanted to bring it up herself but was unsure how.

“I am different, Father, aren’t I?” she
finally asked, her voice soft, afraid to ask the question, not looking at him.

He continued to stare out at the
horizon, inscrutable, until finally he nodded slightly.

“It has something to do with my mother,
doesn’t it?” she pressed. “Who was she? Am I even your daughter?”

He turned and looked at her, sadness in
his eyes, mixed with a nostalgic look she did not fully understand.

“These are all questions for another
time,” he said. “When you are ready.”

“I am ready
now
,” she insisted.

He shook his head.

“There are many things you must learn
first, Kyra. Many secrets I have had to withhold from you,” he said, his voice
heavy with remorse. “It pained me to do so, but it was to protect you. The time
has arrived for you to know everything, for you to know who you truly are.”

She stood there, her heart pounding,
desperate to know, yet afraid to at the same time.

“I was a fool,” he sighed. “I thought I
could raise you. They warned me this day would come, but I did not believe it
for myself. Not until today, not until I saw your skill. Your talents…they are
beyond me.”

She furrowed her brow, her heart
pounding, confused.

“I don’t understand, Father,” she said.
“What are you saying?”

His face hardened with resolve.

“I am saying it is time for you to
leave,” he said, his voice filled with determination, that tone he took when he
refused to back down. “You must leave this fort at once and seek out your
uncle, your mother’s brother. Akis. In the Tower of Ur.”

“The Tower of Ur?” she repeated,
shocked. “Is my uncle a Watcher, then?”

Her father shook his head.

“He is much more. It is he who must
train you—and is he, and only he, who can reveal the secret of who you are.”

While the thought of learning her secret
thrilled her, it was overwhelmed by the idea of leaving her people.

“I don’t want to go,” she said. “I want
to be here, with you.”

He sighed.

“Unfortunately, what you and I want no
longer matters,” he said. “This is not about you and me. This is about Escalon—
all
of Escalon. The destiny of our land lies in your hand. Don’t you see, Kyra?” he
said, turning to her. “It is you: you are the one who will lead our people out
of the darkness.”

She blinked, shocked, hardly believing
his words.

“I can’t leave your side, Father,” she
pleaded. “I
won’t
.”

He turned and looked out at the
countryside, sadness in his eyes.

“Within a fortnight this place, all you
see here, will be destroyed. You must escape when you can. You are our only
hope—your dying here, with us, will help no one.”

Finally Kyra felt a question burning
inside of her.

“They will come back, won’t they?” she
asked.

It was more of a statement than a
question, and as he studied the horizon, he nodded.

“They will,” he replied. “The will cover
this place like a million locusts. All of this that we have known and loved
will soon be no more.”

She felt a pit in her stomach at his
response, and yet she knew it was the truth, and was grateful at least for
that.

“And what of the capital?” Kyra asked.
“What of the old King? Could you not go to Andros and have them resurrect the
old army? Make a stand?”

Her father shook his head.

“The King surrendered once,” he said,
wistfully. “His time to fight has passed. Andros is roamed by politicians now,
not warriors, and none are to be trusted.”

“But surely they would make a stand for
our country, if not for Volis,” she insisted.

“Volis is not our country,” he said. “It
is but one stronghold. One they can afford to turn their backs on. Our victory
today, as great as it was, was still too small for them to rally to our side.”

They both fell into a comfortable
silence as they studied the horizon.

“Are you scared?” she asked.

“A good leader must know fear,” he said.
“Fear helps us sharpen our senses. And to prepare. It is not death I fear—it is
only not dying well.”

They stood there, studying the skies, as
she pondered his words, realizing the truth in them. A long, comfortable
silence fell over them.

“Where is your dragon now?” he asked.

Kyra studied the horizon; strangely
enough, she had been wondering the same thing. The skies were empty, thick with
rolling clouds, and she kept hoping, in the back of her mind, to hear a
screech, to see its wings.

But there was nothing. Nothing but
emptiness and silence, and her father’s lingering question:

Where is your dragon now?

After a short sleep, packed with more
fast, troubled dreams, Alec felt himself rudely awakened by a kick in the ribs.
He opened his eyes, weary, disoriented, hardly knowing where he was; he felt
hay in his mouth, and he remembered: the barracks. He remembered staying up
most of the night, watching his and Marco’s back as the night had been filled
the sounds of boys fighting, creeping in and out of the shadows, calling out to
each other threateningly. He had watched more than one boy get dragged out by
the others, feet first, dead—but not before others could pounce on his dead
body and raid him for anything and everything they could salvage.

Alec was kicked again, and this time,
alert, he rolled over, ready for anything and expecting a dagger in the heart.
He looked up, blinking in the blackness, and was surprised to see not one of
the boys, but rather two soldiers. They were kicking boys all up and down the
line, grabbing them, yanking them to their feet. Alec felt rough hands beneath
his arms, felt himself yanked up, too, then pushed and prodded out of the
barracks.

“What’s happening? What’s going on?” he
mumbled, still unsure if he was awake.

“Time for duty,” the soldier snapped
back. “You’re not here for pleasure, boy.”

Alec had wondered when he would be sent
to patrol The Flames, but it had never occurred to him it would be in the
middle of the night, after such a long ride and only a few minutes of rest. He
stumbled forward, drunk with exhaustion, wondering how he could survive this.
They had given them nothing to eat since they had arrived, and he still felt
weak from the long journey.

Before him a boy collapsed, perhaps from
hunger, or from exhaustion, it didn’t matter—the soldiers pounced on him,
kicking him viciously until he stopped moving altogether. They left him on the
frozen ground, dead, and continued marching.

Alec, realizing he did not want to end
up like that boy, strengthened his resolve and forced himself wide awake. As he
did, he saw Marco come up beside him.

“Sleep much?” Marco asked with a wry
smile.

Alec shook his head gloomily.

“Don’t worry,” Marco said. “We’ll sleep
when we’re dead—and we’ll be dead soon enough.”

They turned a bend and Alec was
momentarily blinded by The Flames, hardly fifty yards away, their heat
tremendous even from here.

“If trolls come through, kill them,” an
Empire soldier called out. “Otherwise, don’t kill yourselves. At least not
until morning. We want this place well-guarded.”

Alec was given a final shove, and he and
the group of boys were left there, near The Flames, while the soldiers turned
and marched off. He wondered why they trusted them to stand guard, not to run,
but then he turned and as he watched them go he saw watchtowers everywhere,
manned with soldiers with crossbows, fingers on the trigger, all of them
waiting, clearly, for one of the boys to make a run for it.

Alec stood there, with no armor and no
weapons, and wondered how they could expect them to be effective. But then he
looked over and saw that some of the other boys had swords.

“Where did you get that?” Alec called
out to a boy nearby.

“When a boy dies, get it from him,” he
called back. “If you can get it first.”

Marco frowned.

“How do they expect us to stand guard
with no weapons?” he asked.

One of the other boys, face black with
soot, snickered.

“Newbies don’t get weapons,” he said.
“They expect you to die anyway. If you’re still here after a few nights, you’ll
find a way to get one.”

Alec stared at The Flames, crackling so
intensely, the heat warming his face, and wondered what lay on the other side,
waiting to burst through.

“What do we do in the meantime?” he
asked. “If a troll breaks through?”

One boy laughed.

“Kill them with your bare hands!” he
called out. “You might survive—but then again, you might not. He’ll be on fire,
and will probably burn you with him.”

The other boys turned their backs and
dispersed, each spreading out for their own stations, and Alec, weaponless,
turned and looked at The Flames with a despairing feeling.

“We have been set up to die,” he said to
Marco.

Marco, about twenty feet away from him,
staring at The Flames, looked disillusioned.

“Before Pandesia invaded, it was a noble
profession to guard The Flames,” he said, his voice glum. “The Keepers were
honored, were armed and well-equipped. It was why I volunteered. But now…now
it’s something else entirely. They don’t want the trolls coming through—but
they don’t use their own men. They leave us to die here.”

“Perhaps we should let them through
then,” Alec said, “and let them kill them all.”

“We should,” Marco said. “But they’d
kill our families, too.”

They fell silent, the two of them
standing there, staring into The Flames. Alec did not know how much time had
passed as he stared, wondering. He could not help but feel as if he were
looking into his death. What was his family doing right now? he wondered. Were
they thinking of him? Did they even care?

Alec was getting lost in depressing
thoughts and knew he had to change his mood. He forced himself to look away, to
glance back over his shoulder and to study the dark woodline. The woods were
pitch black, foreboding, the soldiers in the watchtowers not even bothering to
watch them. Instead, they kept their eyes fixed on the recruits, on The Flames.

“They are afraid to stand guard themselves,”
Alec observed, looking up at the soldiers. “Yet they don’t want us to leave.
That is cowardly.”

Barely had Alec uttered the words when
he suddenly felt a tremendous pain in his back, sending him stumbling forward.
Before he knew what was happening, he felt a club being jammed into his back,
and he landed face-first on the hard ground. He heard a sinister voice, one he
recognized:

“I told you I’d find you, boy.”

Before he could react Alec felt rough
hands grab him from behind and drag him forward, toward The Flames. There were
two of them—the boy from the carriage and his friend—and Alec tried to resist,
but it was useless. Their grip was too tight and they were carrying him closer
and closer, until his face felt the intense heat of The Flames.

Alec heard struggling and he looked over
and was surprised to see Marco wrapped up in chains, two other boys grabbing
him from behind, holding him in place. They had planned this well, Alec
realized. A coordinated attack. They really wanted him dead.

Alec struggled, but he could not gain
leverage. They were getting closer and closer to The Flames, hardly ten feet
away, the heat of it so intense he could already feel the pain, feel as if his
face were going to melt. He knew that with but a few more feet, he would either
be dead, or disfigured for life.

Alec bucked, but they had him in such a
tight grip, he could not break free.

“NO!” he shrieked.

“Time for payback,” hissed the voice in
his ear.

There suddenly came a horrific shriek,
and Alec was shocked to realize it was not his own. He was surprised to feel
the grip loosening on his arms, and as he did, he immediately pulled back from
The Flames. At that same moment, he was amazed to see a huge burst of light,
and he watched as a troll burst out of The Flames, on fire, and suddenly landed
on the boy beside him, pinning him to the ground.

The troll, still on fire, rolled with
the boy on the ground, then sank its fangs into his throat. The boy shrieked as
he died instantly.

The troll turned and looked about, in a
frenzy, and its eyes, large and red, met Alec’s. Alec was terrified. Still
aflame, it breathed through its mouth, its long fangs covered in blood, and
looked ravenous for a kill, like a wild beast.

Alec stood there, frozen with fear,
unable to move even if he wanted to.

But it detected motion, saw the other
boy from the carriage running away, and to Alec’s relief, it set its sights on
him instead. It turned, lunged for him, and in one bound tackled him to the
ground, landing on his back, and sank its fangs into the back of his neck. The
boy cried out as it killed him.

Alec turned to see Marco shake off the
stunned boys, grabbing the chain and swinging it around, smashing one in the
face and the other between the legs, dropping them both.

Bells started to toll in all the
watchtowers, and all around Alec, chaos ensued. All around him, boys gathered,
came running from all up and down The Flames to fight the troll. They jabbed at
it with spears, but most were inexperienced and were afraid to get too close,
and the troll reached out, grabbed a spear and pulled a boy close, hugging him
tight and, as the boy shrieked, setting him aflame.

“Now’s the time,” hissed an urgent
voice.

Alec turned to see Marco running up
beside him.

“They’re all distracted. This may be our
only chance.”

Marco looked out and Alec followed his
glance: he was looking at the woods. He meant to escape.

Black and ominous, the woodline was
foreboding; Alec knew that even greater dangers likely lurked in there, but he
knew Marco was right: this may be their only chance. And nothing better awaited
them here.

Alec nodded, the two of them exchanged a
knowing look, and without another word, they broke into a sprint together,
running farther and farther from The Flames, toward the woods.

Alec’s heart slammed in his chest as he
expected at any moment to be shot by a crossbow, to be hunted down and killed.
He was running for his very life.

But as he glanced back over his
shoulder, he saw everyone surrounding the troll, distracted, no eyes on them.

A moment later, they entered the woods,
engulfed in blackness and into a world of dangers greater than he could ever
imagine. He would probably die out here, he knew. But at least he was free.

Free.