Rise of the Valiant (14 page)

They continued
on in silence, Seavig’s words ringing in Duncan’s ears, striking home to his
very heart and soul, making him rethink his entire life. They stung him; they
provoked him; and while he wished he had never heard them, he also knew that on
some level he needed to.

“What will you
do once Escalon is free?” Seavig continued, after a long silence. “Shame all
the warriors who fight for you, and hand the kingship back to the man who does
not deserve it? Or honor those who have honored you, and give them the leader
they demand?”

Duncan did not
know how to respond. He had been raised by his father to value loyalty above
all else;
men come and go, but loyalty is for life
, he had been told. He
had never betrayed those close to him, and had never forgotten a debt. He had
also been raised to appreciate his place in life, and to not strive to reach a
station that was too great for him.

All of what
Seavig was saying went against the very grain of who he was, of what he knew.
Yet at the same time, he could see his point: the weak king had let them all
down, had hurt their great land, and Duncan knew there was some truth hidden in
Seavig’s words, even if at the moment he could not fully process it.

They fell back
into silence as they continued around the Lake of Ire, gravel crunching beneath
their horses’ feet, the fog still so thick that Duncan could not see his hands.
And as they went, his foreboding deepened. He feared no man, yet he did not
like to fight what he could not see. He felt something evil in this wind,
something coming, and he gripped his sword tighter. He hoped he was not leading
his men to slaughter.

Duncan stiffened
as he thought he heard a muffled shout. He stopped and stared into the fog,
wondering, when suddenly, it came again. One of his men cried out, and this was
followed by a thud, as if a man had fallen from his horse.

“Fog walkers!”
shrieked Seavig, his voice cutting through the air.

There suddenly
came shouts from all around him, and Duncan turned every which way, gripping
his sword, trying to spot the foe—and then all was chaos.

Duncan suddenly
felt an icy grip around his throat and he looked down to see what appeared to
be a skeleton, but nearly translucent, like ice, its long claws digging into
his throat and piercing his skin. He looked up to see a ghoulish creature,
skeleton-like, with empty sockets for eyes, its face inches away, slowly
becoming visible in the fog. It opened its mouth impossibly wide, leaned in,
and placed it on Duncan’s chest and began to suck.

Even through the
creature was toothless, still, the fog walker was suctioning him, like a leech,
and he could feel it beginning to suck his body out of him, even through the
chainmail. Duncan cried out in pain. With all the energy he could muster, he
reached down, grabbed the creature’s skull with both hands, and squeezed. It
was a monumental struggle, his arms shaking, as he felt himself getting weaker,
feeling as if his heart would be sucked out of his chest.

Finally, the
creature’s skull burst, its brittle bones falling all around him.

Duncan breathed
hard, rubbing his chest, feeling his skin burning, realizing what a close call
that was.

Shouts rose up
all around him and Duncan peered through the fog, struggling to see, never
having felt so helpless in battle. He could barely make out a thing; all he
could sense was motion. He kicked his horse and charged into the mist,
realizing he could not sit there; he had to help his men and he would just have
to feel his way.

Duncan rode into
one of his men and made out a fog walker clinging to his chest, its mouth
suctioning him, and he watched in horror as the fog walker suctioned out the
man’s heart. It was still pumping in the air as the soldier shrieked and fell,
dead, to the ground.

A gale of wind
passed through, and for a moment the fog lifted and Duncan spotted hundreds of
fog walkers flying through the air, many rising from the Lake of Ire itself.
His heart dropped at the sight. He knew if he did not act quickly his men would
die on these shores.

“DISMOUNT!” he
shouted to his men. “Take the low ground!”

His order
carried on the wind, and there came a great rankling of armor as his men all
dismounted, and he did, too. Duncan crouched down low to get a better angle on
these creatures as they came flying at him in the wind, and as one neared, he
raised his sword and slashed. His sword cut it across the torso and there came
the sound of clattering bones as it collapsed into pieces all around him.

Another came at
him, opening its mouth wide, and he stabbed it in the chest, shattering it. One
came at him from the side and no sooner had he smashed it with his shield then
another came from his other side.

Duncan spun and
slashed left and right, shattering these things in every direction as their
claws reached for him. Anvin found him, and the two fought back to back in the
fog. Anvin swung his flail, its spiked balls swinging overhead and smashing fog
walkers as they collapsed in heaps all around them.

Seavig hit the
ground beside Duncan’s, rolling on his back and swinging with an axe, chopping
fog walkers out of the sky. The group stuck together, guarding each other’s
backs, fighting as one as they fended off the creatures.

Yet all around
them the cries of agony continued, too many of their men getting killed by
these things which came out of nowhere, as if they were one with the fog. There
seemed to be a never-ending stream of them, as if the lake were churning them
out in its vapors. Duncan spun and slashed one, sparing Seavig right before he
was bitten in the back—but as he did, Duncan suddenly felt sharp claws digging
into his back. He reached around and grabbed the creature and threw it over his
head, stepping on it and smashing it. But as soon as he did, another latched onto
him and began suctioning his arm. Seavig stepped forward and smashed it to bits
with his axe—while Anvin lunged forward and stabbed another through its open
mouth before it landed on Duncan’s neck.

The air was
filled with the sound of bones clattering as men fought back bravely. A wind
blew in and lifted the fog for a moment and as it did, Duncan saw piles of
bones, hundreds of dead fog walkers littering the shores. Yet in the distance,
he was horrified to see thousands more fog walkers emerging from the mist and
flying towards them, howling their awful high-pitched howl.

“There are too
many!” Anvin yelled out.

“To the waters!”
Seavig yelled. “Into the lake! All of you! It is our last chance!”

Duncan was
horrified at the thought.

“The Lake of
Ire?” Duncan called back. “Does it not swarm with creatures?”

“It does!”
Seavig called. “But a possible death is better than a certain one!”

“TO THE WATERS!”
Duncan commanded, shouting out to his men, realizing their situation was
helpless otherwise.

Horns sounded
and as one, their men ran for the lake. Duncan ran with them, wading in, a
great splashing noise rising up as they all could not get in fast enough. As he
entered, Duncan was surprised to find the red waters to be warm and sticky,
thick, as if he were running into quicksand. He waded in deeper, up to his
chest, and the water grew hotter as he did, bubbling and hissing.

Fog walkers flew
through the air toward them, but as they neared the water, this time they flew
up and avoided them, as if afraid. They circled overhead in a huge swarm, like
bats, howling in frustration. Duncan felt a moment of relief as he realized
Seavig had been right: they were, indeed, afraid of the waters. It had saved
them from the swarm.

Finally,
realizing they could not get close, the fog walkers let out a great howl and as
one, the flock flew off, disappearing for good.

Duncan’s men
raised their arms in the water and let out a shout of victory, elated. Duncan
himself finally let down his guard for the first time.

No sooner had he
done so when Duncan suddenly felt something slimy wrapping itself around his
ankles, like seaweed. His heart slammed as he tried to kick it off. He looked
down, studying the thick waters, but could not see what it was. It tugged at
him, all muscle, and with a sudden yank, Duncan began to feel himself being
dragged down.

He looked down
and suddenly saw the water teeming, alive with thousands of creatures
resembling sea snakes.

Shouts arose all
amongst his men as one by one, on all sides, his men began to disappear, to get
sucked down beneath the murky waters, to a terrible, terrible death.

Kyra’s
foreboding deepened as she rode across the soggy clearing, Dierdre and Leo by
her side, wind and rain whipping her face, heading for the tavern beside the
gushing river. She felt a knot in her stomach, sensing this was a mistake—yet
she also felt unable to turn back. Rationally, Kyra knew she should follow her
father’s advice, stay clear of people, stick to the road and keep the sea in
sight until they reached Ur.

Physically,
though, she was just too hungry, too tired, and unable to resist the impulse
that was driving her out of the rain and toward warmth, shelter, and the smell
of food. After all, Dierdre had a point: there were risks involved in not finding
food, especially with Ur still several days away.

As they
approached, there came more shouts of drunken men, louder this time. A few pigs
and stray chickens rooted around outside its walls, and a shingle hung
crookedly, swaying in the wind.

“What does it
say?” Dierdre asked her, and she realized her friend was unable to read. That
should not have surprised her, she realized, as most of Escalon could not. She
had had a very special upbringing.

Kyra raised a
hand to her eyes and struggled to read in the rain.

“The Inn at
Tanis,” she replied, thinking how unoriginal a name it was.

This place,
named after the river, looked as if it had been constructed from the forest
clearing in a few days’ time. There came another shout, and Kyra tried not to
imagine the crowd awaiting them.

“You’re lucky,”
Dierdre said.

“Why’s that?”
Kyra asked, confused.

“Only highborn
can read,” she said. “I wish I could.”

Kyra felt sorry.

“My brothers
cannot,” Kyra replied. “I was the only one who insisted. I can teach you, if
you like.”

Dierdre’s eyes
lit up.

“I would like
that,” she replied.

As they
approached, Kyra reached down and was reassured to feel the gold jingling in
her pocket, knowing it would be more than enough to get the provisions they
needed. They would stay just long enough to thaw out their frozen hands, to buy
feed for the horse and Andor, and move on. How much could happen in a few
minutes’ time?

She looked and
saw no sign of Pandesian horses or boats outside, and she felt a bit of relief.
Fellow Escalons would likely not attack their own; after all, they were all in
this war together. But travelers?

They headed
around the side of the structure, searching for the front door, and Kyra found
it ajar, crooked, facing the gushing river and near the wooden bridge that
crossed it. Bobbing in the river were dozens of small boats, some long and
narrow, like canoes, others wide and flat; to the north she saw the mouth of
the harbor leading to the sea and the many large ships flying the colors of all
different lands. She figured all these sailors probably stopped here for the
same reason she did: to replenish their provisions and get some warmth.

They dismounted,
Kyra tying Andor alongside the structure, while Dierdre tied up her horse.
Andor, resentful, stomped uncomfortably and snarled.

Kyra reached up
and stroked his head.

“I’ll be right
out,” she said. “I’m just going to get you some food.”

Andor stomped
again, as if he knew bad things lay inside.

Leo whined,
wanting to join, too, but Kyra knelt down and held him in place, stroking his
head.

“Wait with
Andor,” she said, feeling guilty as the rain picked up.

“Let’s go,” Dierdre
said.

Kyra stood,
following Dierdre as they walked up the creaky wooden plank toward the door,
and as they did, it suddenly slammed open, a man stumbling out so quickly they
had to get out of his way. The man hurried to the side rail, leaned over, and
threw up.

Kyra, revolted,
tried not to look; she turned back for the door and hurried inside, wondering
if that was an omen.

As the door
opened, Kyra was struck by a wave of noise and by the smell of stale beer, body
odor, sweat, and food. She nearly gagged. She looked around and saw a narrow
bar, behind which was a tall, skinny bartender with a gaunt face, perhaps in
his forties. Inside the room were dozens of men, sitting and standing, of all
different appearances, their dress foreign, men clearly from all over the
world. She heard languages she did not recognize, and accents she could not
understand. All of them were immersed in drink.

As they entered
the tavern, all the men stopped and turned, the place falling silent. Kyra felt
uncomfortable as they looked her up and down, felt more conspicuous than ever.
It was not every day, Kyra realized, that two women walked into a place like
this alone. In fact, as she looked around at the grime and filth, she figured a
woman’s foot had probably never stepped foot in here once.

Kyra looked back
at their faces, and she did not like what she saw. They were the faces of drunk
men, of desperate men, foreigners, most with heavy stubble, others with thick
beards, few of them shaven. Some had beady eyes, many eyes were bloodshot, and
most were tainted by drink. Their hair was long, unkempt, greasy, and they all
had a hunger in their eyes—and not for food. It was for violence. For women.

It was exactly
the sort of situation Kyra had wanted to avoid. A part of her wanted to turn
and walk out, but they needed the provisions and it was too late now.

Kyra put on her
toughest face and strutted through the crowd, right for the bar, keeping her
eyes fixed on the barkeep and trying not to seem afraid. Dierdre followed close
behind.

“Those chickens
behind the bar,” Kyra said to the bartender, speaking in a loud and firm voice,
“I’ll take four. I’ll also need four bags of feed, two sacks of water, and one
slab of raw meat,” she added, thinking of Leo.

The bartender
looked back with surprise.

“And you have
money to pay for all that?” he asked, in an accent she had not heard before.

Kyra, keeping
her eyes fixed on him, reached into her sack and extracted one large gold coin,
which she knew would be enough to pay for all that and more. She set it down on
the bar, and it rang with a distinctive clink.

The barkeep
glanced warily at her and picked up the coin and examined it, holding it up to
the candlelight. Kyra could feel the eyes of all the patrons on it, and she
knew it was drawing even more attention than she would have liked.

“These
markings,” the barkeep observed. “Are you from Volis, then?”

Kyra nodded
back, her heart pounding, feeling a tension rise within her, more on guard than
ever.

“And what are
two girls from Volis doing all the way on the River Tanis? Alone?” came a harsh
voice.

Kyra heard a
commotion and turned to see a large man, taller than most of the others, with
green eyes and brown hair, staring back at her as he approached. She tensed,
not knowing what to expect, debating how much to tell him.

“I’m on my way
to see my uncle,” she said vaguely, leaving it at that.

He narrowed his
eyes.

“And where is
your uncle?” he asked. “Perhaps I know him.”

“Ur,” she
replied flatly.

He looked back
at her skeptically.

“Ur is far from
here. Are you two crossing Escalon alone then?”

Kyra hesitated,
debating whether to reply. She owed this man no answers and just wanted to be
out of this place.

She turned and
faced him, squaring her shoulders.

“And who are you
that you should demand answers from me?” she replied firmly.

A few men in the
bar groaned, and the man’s face reddened.

“For a girl
alone, in your situation, you should show more respect to your elders,” he said
darkly.

“I give respect
to those who give it to me,” she replied, not backing down. “And so far, I have
seen none from you. As for being in a vulnerable position,” she added, “I
daresay it is
you
who are in that position. I have a very fine weapon
strapped to my back, and I see you have but a knife on your waist. Do not
underestimate me because I am a girl. I can slit your throat before you finish
speaking.”

There came a low
grumble from the crowd, as the tension raised several notches.

The man stared
back, shocked, and raised a hand to his hips.

“Big words for a
girl,” he said. “Much less for one traveling alone.” He looked her over. “You
are a brave one, aren’t you?” he asked. “I suspect you’re not an ordinary
girl.” He rubbed his chin. “No, by the looks of you, I’d say you are someone
important. Furs like that are reserved for warlords. What are two girls doing
wearing a warlord’s furs?”

He stared back
darkly, demanding a response, as the tavern quieted. Kyra decided it was time
to tell them.

“They are my
father’s furs,” she said proudly, glaring back. “Duncan. Warlord of Volis.”

For the first
time, the man displayed true shock and fear. His expression softened.

“Duncan, you
say?” he said, his voice quivering. “Your father?”

The room grumbled
in surprise.

“And would he
let you travel alone?” he added. “And not with a company of a hundred men?”

“My father has
faith in me,” she replied. “He has seen what I can do. He has seen how many
men’s throats, like you, I have already cut. It is
they
he fears for,
not myself,” she replied boldly, knowing she must show no weakness if she were
to survive this place.

The man stared
back, shocked, clearly not expecting that response.

Slowly, his face
broke into a smile.

“You are your
father’s daughter then,” he replied. “And a fine man he is. I met him once. The
boldest, bravest warrior I’d ever known.”

He turned to the
barkeep.

“Everything they
asked for,” he said, “double it! It’s on me!”

He threw another
gold coin on the bar as the barkeep grabbed it and quickly scrambled to get the
provisions.

Kyra watched,
relieved and surprised. Slowly, she relaxed her shoulders and loosened her grip
on her staff.

“Why should you
pay for our food?” Dierdre asked.

“Your father
saved my life once,” the man said to Kyra. “I owe him. Now you can tell him
we’re even. Plus, I hear a rumor that your father has killed some Pandesians,”
he said. “Rumor has it that war is brewing in Escalon.”

Kyra looked back
him, her heart thumping, wondering how much to say.

He summed her up,
and nodded to himself.

“I suspect that
is what your journey’s about,” he said. “And by the looks of you, I suspect you
may have already shed some Pandesian blood yourself.”

Kyra shrugged.

“There may have
been one or two who crossed my path,” she said. “But nothing unprovoked.”

The man’s smile
widened, and this time he leaned back and laughed.

“Anyone who
kills Pandesians is a friend of mine,” he said heartily. “Don’t worry, girls,
you shall not be harmed here. Not by me or any of my men!”

Kyra began to feel
a sense of relief—when suddenly a dark voice boomed from across the room.

“Speak for
yourself!”

Kyra turned, as
did the rest of the men in the room, to see a brute of a man appear, twice as
wide as the others, and flanked by several friends. They all wore chain mail,
covered by dark brown cloaks, and had a yellow hawk insignia branded on them.
They stared darkly at Kyra and Dierdre as they approached.

The other men
stepped aside as they walked across the tavern, floorboards creaking, menace in
their eyes, hands on swords and daggers. Kyra’s stomach tightened; she sensed
this was real trouble.

“I don’t give a
damn about who your father is,” the oaf muttered, coming closer. “My land lies
far across the sea, and I don’t give a damn about Pandesians, or Escalons, or
any of your politics. I see two young girls, traveling alone. And I am hungry.
My
men
are hungry.”

He stepped
closer, smiling widely, missing teeth, stinking, his face grotesque as he
smiled, with his elongated jaw. Kyra’s heart thumped madly as she tightened her
grip on her staff, sensing a confrontation and wishing she had more room to
maneuver in these close quarters.

“What do you
want?” Dierdre asked, fear in her voice.

Kyra silently
fumed, wishing her friend had remained silent; the fear in her voice was
evident, and that, she knew, would only embolden them.

“Many things,”
the man replied, looking at her, licking his lips. “The gold in your sacks. And
even more—the money I will get for selling you. You see, where I come from, two
young girls demand a very high price.” He grinned a wide, creepy grin. “I will
be many, many times richer than I was when I woke this morning.”