Rise of the Dragons (23 page)

He moaned, releasing his grip, as he
fell to his knees, and she turned and stood over him, the son finally helpless
as he looked up at her with shocked eyes filled with pain.

“Say hello to your father for me,” she
said, raising back her staff and with all her might jabbing him in the head.

This time, he collapsed, unconscious, on
the stone.

Kyra, still breathing hard, still
enraged, surveyed her handiwork: three men, formidable men, armed men, lay
unmoving on the floor. She, starting out a weaponless, defenseless girl, had
done it.

“Kyra!” cried out a voice.

She turned and remembered Dierdre, and
without wasting another second, ran across the room. Grabbing the keys from the
guard’s waist, she unlocked the cell, and as she did, Dierdre ran into her
arms, hugging her.

Kyra pulled her back and looked her in
the eyes, wanting to know if she was mentally prepared to escape.

“It’s time,” Kyra said firmly. “Are you
ready?”

Dierdre stood there, shell-shocked,
staring at the carnage in the room, clearly unable to believe it.

“You beat him,” she said, staring at the
bodies in disbelief. “I can’t believe it. You beat him.”

As Kyra examined her, she watched
something shift in Dierdre’s eyes. All the fear drifted away, and Kyra saw a
strong woman emerging from deep inside, a woman she had not recognized before
and a woman she respected. Seeing her attackers unconscious, finally weak
themselves, did something to her, gave her a new strength, a new hope.

Dierdre walked slowly over to one of the
swords lying on the floor, picked it up, and walked back over to the son, still
lying prone, unconscious.

She stared down at him, and her face
molded into a sneer.

“This is for everything you did to me,”
she said.

She raised the sword with trembling
hands, and Kyra could see a great battle going on within herself as she
hesitated.

“Dierdre,” Kyra said softly, laying a
hand on her.

Dierdre looked at her, a wild grief in
her stare.

“If you do it,” Kyra said softly,
“you’ll be just like them.”

Dierdre stood there, arms trembling,
going through an emotional storm, and finally, she lowered the sword, dropping
it on the stone. It clanged at her feet.

Instead she spit in the son’s face, then
leaned back and with her boot kicked him a mighty blow across the face.

Dierdre, Kyra was beginning to see, was
a much stronger person than she’d thought.

She looked back at Kyra and her eyes
were shining, life back in them, as if her old self were being restored.

“We have a lot to live for,” Dierdre
said back to her, her voice now filled with strength. “Let’s go.”

*

Kyra and Dierdre burst out of the
dungeon and into the early light of dawn, finding themselves smack in the
middle of Argos, the Pandesian stronghold and Lord Governor’s military complex.
Kyra blinked in the light, feeling so good to see daylight again, despite its
being cold out here, and as she got her bearings she saw they were in the
center of a rambling complex of stone keeps, encased by a high stone wall and a
massive gate. The Lord’s Men were still slowly waking up, beginning to take
positions all around the barracks; there must have been thousands of them. It
was a professional army, and this place was more like a city than a town.

The soldiers all took up positions along
the walls, looking out toward the horizon; none looked inward. None of the
soldiers had their eyes in their direction, and clearly none were expecting two
girls to escape from within their midst. It was still dark enough, too, to help
obscure them, and as Kyra looked up ahead, to the massive, well-guarded arched
entrance at the far end of the courtyard, she knew that if they had any chance
of escape, it was now.

But it was a long courtyard to cross on
foot, and she knew they might not make it—and even if they did, once they ran
through it, they would be caught.

“There!” Dierdre said, pointing.

Kyra looked and saw, on the other side
of the courtyard, a horse, tied up, a soldier standing beside it, holding its
reins, his back to them.

Dierdre turned to her.

“We’ll need a horse,” she said. “It’s the
only way.”

Kyra nodded, surprised that they were
thinking the same way, and that Dierdre was so perceptive—that Dierdre, whom
Kyra had at first thought would be a liability, was actually smart, quick, and
decisive.

“Can you take him out?” she asked, looking
at the soldier.

Kyra tightened her grip on her staff and
nodded.

As one, the two ran out from the shadows
and silently across the courtyard, Kyra’s heart slamming in her chest as she
focused in on the soldier before them, his back to her, getting closer with
each step—and praying they weren’t discovered in the meantime.

Kyra ran so fast she could barely
breathe, willing herself not to slip in the snow, no longer feeling the cold as
adrenaline pumped through her veins—and finally she reached the soldier.

He heard her coming at the last second,
and spun around.

But he had no time to react. Kyra was
already in motion, raising her staff and jabbing him in the solar plexus, then,
as he grunted and dropped to his knees, swinging it around in the same motion
and bringing it down on the back of his head—knocking him face-first into the
snow, unconscious.

They wasted no time. Kyra jumped onto
its back, while Dierdre untied it and jumped up behind her—and they both kicked
and took off.

Kyra felt the cold wind through her hair
as the horse burst through the snowy courtyard, charging for the exit at the
far end, perhaps a hundred yards away. As they charged their way through the
massive Pandesian fort, sleepy soldiers began to take notice, and to turn their
way.

“Come on!” Kyra yelled to the horse,
urging it faster, seeing the exit looming closer and closer.

The massive stone arch was straight
ahead, its portcullis raised, leading to a drawbridge, and beyond that, Kyra’s
heart quickened to see, open land. Freedom.

She kicked the horse with all her might,
as she saw the soldiers at the exit beginning to take notice.

“STOP THEM!” yelled a soldier from
behind.

As they neared the exit, the soldiers
stationed there took notice, too, and several of them scurried to the large iron
cranks and, to Kyra’s dread, began to turn the crank that closed the
portcullis. Kyra knew that if it closed before they could reach it, their lives
would be over. They were but twenty yards away now, and riding faster than
she’d ever had—and yet the portcullis, thirty feet high, was lowering slowly, a
foot at a time.

“Get as low as you can!” she shrieked to
Dierdre, Kyra bending all the way over until her face was on the horse’s mane.

Kyra raced, heart pounding in her ears,
as they charge into the exit, the portcullis lowering, so low that she had to
duck. It was so close, she did not know if they would make it.

Then, just as she was sure they would
die, their horse burst through, the portcullis slamming down right behind them
with a great boom. A moment later they were across the drawbridge, on the open
road, and to Kyra’s immense relief, out under open sky.

Horns sounded behind them, and a moment
later, Kyra flinched as she heard an arrow whiz by her head.

She glanced back over her shoulder and
saw the Lord’s Men taking positions up and down the ramparts, firing at them.
She zigzagged on the horse, realizing they were still within range, urging it
faster.

They were making progress, perhaps a
fifty yards out, far enough where now, to her relief, most arrows were falling
short—when suddenly, to her horror, she watched an arrow land in the horse’s
side. It immediately stopped and reared—throwing them both off.

Kyra’s world turned to chaos. She hit
the ground hard, winded, as the horse rolled right next to her, luckily missing
them by an inch.

Kyra knelt on her hands and knees,
dazed, her head ringing, and looked over and saw Dierdre beside her, then
looked back and saw, in the distance, the portcullis being raised. Hundreds of
soldiers were lined up, waiting, and as the portcullis opened, they tore out
the gates. It was a full-scale army, on its way to kill them; she was confused
how they could have been assembled so early, but then she realized: they had
already assembled, at dawn, to attack her village. These men were preparing to
kill her father. And for them, now was as convenient a time as ever to begin
their attack.

Kyra looked over at their dead horse, at
the vast open plains before them, and she knew they would never make it. That
army was death coming for them, and her run, at last, had come to an end.

Aidan marched for his father’s chamber
impatiently, Leo at his side, with a deepening premonition that something was
wrong. He had been searching for his sister Kyra all over the fort, Leo at his
side, checking all her usual haunts—the armory, the blacksmith’s, Fighter’s
Gate—and yet she was nowhere to be found. He and Kyra had always had a close
connection, ever since he was born, and he always knew when something was off
with her—now, he felt warning signs inside. She had been absent from the feast,
and he knew she would have not missed it.

Most concerning of all, Leo was not with
her—which never,
ever
happened. Aidan had grilled Leo, but the wolf,
clearly trying to tell him something, could not communicate. He only stuck to
Aidan’s side, and would not leave it.

Aidan had spent the feast with a knot in
his stomach, checking the door constantly for any sign of Kyra. He had tried to
mention it to his father during the meal, but Duncan had been surrounded by too
many men, all of them too focused on discussing the battle to come, and none
taking him seriously.

At first light Aidan, awake all night,
jumped up and ran to his window, checking the breaking dawn for any sign of
her. There was none. He burst out of his chamber, down the corridor, past all
his father’s men and into Kyra’s room and he did not even knock as he put a
shoulder to it, running inside, looking for her.

But his heart had fallen to find her bed
empty, still made from the day before. He knew then, for certain, something was
wrong.

Aidan ran all the way down the corridors
to his father’s chambers, and now he stood before the giant door and looked
back at the two guards before it.

“Open the door!” Aidan ordered urgently.

The guards exchanged an unsure look.

“It was a long night, boy,” one guard
said. “Your father won’t take kindly to being awakened.”

“Today could bring battle,” said the
other. “He needs to be rested.”

“I will not say it again,” Aidan
insisted.

They looked at him, skeptical, and
Aidan, unable to wait, rushed forward and slammed the knocker.

“Whoa, boy!” one of them said.

Then realizing his determination, the
other guard said, “All right—but it’s your head if anything happens. And the
wolf stays here.”

Leo snarled, but the guard reluctantly
pushed open the door just enough for Aidan to step inside, closing it behind
him.

Aidan rushed to his father’s bed to find
him sleeping in his furs, snoring, a half-dressed serving girl lying beside
him. He grabbed his father’s shoulder and shoved him, again and again.

Finally, his father opened his eyes with
a fierce look, staring back as if he were going to whack him. But Aidan would
not be deterred.

“Father, you must wake up now!” Aidan
urged. “Kyra is missing!”

His father’s look morphed into one of
confusion, and he stared back, eyes bloodshot, as if in a drunken haze.

“Missing?” he said, his voice deep,
gravelly, rumbling in his chest. “What do you mean?”

“She did not return to her chamber last
night. Something has happened to her—I’m certain of it. Alert your men at
once!”

His father sat up, this time looking
more alert, rubbing his face and trying to shake off the sleep.

“I am sure your sister is fine,” he
said. “She’s always fine. She survived an encounter with a dragon—do you think
a small snowstorm blew her away? She’s just somewhere you cannot find her—she
likes to go off by herself. Now go on. Be on your way before you end up with a
good spanking.”

But Aidan stood there, determined,
red-faced.

“If you won’t find her, I’ll find her
myself,” he yelled and turned and ran from the chamber, hoping that somehow he
had gotten through to him.

*

Aidan stood outside the gates of Volis,
Leo beside him, standing proudly on the bridge and watching dawn spread across
the countryside. He checked the horizon for any signs of Kyra, hoping perhaps
she’d return from firing arrows, but he found none. His foreboding worsened. He
had spent the last hour waking everyone from his brothers to the butcher,
asking who had seen her last. Finally, one of his father’s men had reported
that he had seen her riding off toward the Wood of Thorns with Maltren.

Aidan had combed the fort for Maltren
and had been told he was out for his morning hunt. And now he stood here,
watching for Maltren to return, eager to confront him and find out what
happened to his sister.

Aidan stood there, shin deep in snow,
shivering but ignoring it, hands on his hips, waiting, watching, until finally,
he squinted as he saw a figure appearing on the horizon, charging forward in
the snow, galloping, wearing the armor of his father’s men, the dragon’s crest
shining on his breastplate. His heart lifted to see it was Maltren.

Maltren galloped toward the fort, a deer
draped over the back of his horse, and as he neared, Aidan saw his disapproval.
He looked down at Aidan and came to a reluctant stop before him.

“Out of the way, boy!” Maltren called
out. “You’re blocking the bridge.”

But Aidan stood his ground, confronting
him.

“Where is my sister?” Aidan demanded.

Maltren stared back, and Aidan saw a
moment of hesitation cross his face.

“How should I know?” he barked back. “I
am a warrior—I don’t keep track of the frolicking of girls.”

But Aidan held his ground.

“I was told she was with you last. Where
is she?” he repeated more firmly.

Aidan was impressed by the authority in
his own voice, reminding him of his own father, though he was still too young
and lacked the deepness of tone he so badly craved.

He must have gotten through to Maltren,
because he slowly dismounted, anger and impatience flashing in his eyes, and
walked toward Aidan in a threatening matter, armor rattling as he went. As he
neared, Leo snarled, so viciously that Maltren stopped, a few feet away,
looking from the wolf to Aidan.

He sneered down at Aidan, stinking of
sweat, and even though he tried not to show it, Aidan had to admit he was
afraid. He thanked God he had Leo at his side.

“Do you know what the punishment is for
defying one of your father’s men?” Maltren asked, his voice sinister.

“He is
my
father,” Aidan insisted.
“And Kyra is his daughter, too. Now where is she?”

Inside, Aidan was trembling—but he was
not about to back down—not with Kyra in danger.

Maltren looked about, over his shoulder,
apparently checking to see if anyone were watching. Satisfied that no one was,
he leaned in close, smiled, and said:

“I sold her to the Lord’s Men—and for a
handsome price. She was a traitor and a troublemaker—just like you.”

Aidan’s eyes widened in shock, furious
at his betrayal.

“As for you,” Maltren said, reaching in
and grabbing Aidan’s shirt, pulling him close. Aidan’s heart jumped as he saw
him slip his hand on a dagger in his belt. “Do you know how many boys die in
this moat each year? It’s a very unfortunate thing. This bridge is too
slippery, and those banks too steep. No one will ever suspect this was anything
but another accident.”

Aidan tried to wiggle his way free, but
Maltren’s grip was too tight. He felt flushed with panic, as he knew he was
about to die.

Suddenly, Leo snarled and leapt for
Maltren, sinking his fangs into his ankle. Maltren let go of Aidan and raised
his dagger to stab the wolf.

“NO!” Aidan shouted.

There came the sound of a horn, followed
by horses bursting through the gate, galloping across the bridge, and Maltren
stopped, dagger in mid-air. Aidan turned and his heart lifted with relief to
see his father and two brothers approaching, joined by a dozen men, their bows
already drawn and pointed for Maltren chest.

Aidan broke free and Maltren stood
there, looking afraid for the first time, holding his dagger in his hand,
caught red-handed. Aidan snapped his fingers, and Leo reluctantly backed off.

Duncan dismounted and stepped forward
with his men, and as they did, Aidan turned to them.

“You see, Father! I told you! Kyra is
missing. And Maltren has betrayed her—he has sold her to the Lord Governor!”

Duncan stepped forward and a tense
silence overcame them as his men surrounded Maltren. He looked nervously over
his shoulder to his horse, as if contemplating escape, but the men came forward
and grabbed its reins.

Maltren looked back at Duncan, clearly
nervous.

“You were going to lay your hands on my
boy, were you?” his father asked, looking Maltren in the eye, his tone hard and
cold.

Maltren gulped and said nothing.

Duncan slowly raised his sword and held
the point to Maltren’s throat, death in his eyes.

“You will lead us to my daughter,” he
said, “and it will be the last thing you do before I kill you.”