A Forge of Valor (12 page)

Ra had never felt such disgust in his life, and deep inside he could feel himself about to blow. It was all he could do to keep himself from reaching out and strangling the boy.

Adding insult to injury, Enis reached up and actually dared to lay a hand on Ra’s shoulder.

“You need me,” Enis continued, still not realizing the danger he was in. “These are my people. I know how to rule them. Without me, you have nothing.”

Ra took a deep breath, then spoke with a voice trembling with anger.

“Do you know how many kings I have instilled and deposed?” Ra asked in his deep, rumbling voice. “How many lands, how many nations, have been my plaything? And yet the kings,
my
kings, all think the same thing: they imagine that
they
have power. That it is
their
land.
Their
people. How quickly delusions grow. There is one thing that they always seem to forget.”

Ra reached up and with a quick and sudden motion, grabbed Enis by the back of his shirt, took several steps forward, dragging him, and with a great cry hurled him over the edge of the parapets.

Enis shrieked as he flailed and fell through the air. Finally, he landed with a splat, face first on the stone far below.

Ra looked down, smiled, and took a deep breath. He was starting to feel better now, seeing that insolent boy’s mangled body so far below.

“Power,” Ra said down to the dead body, “is illusory.”

*

Bant strode down the capital streets, feeling a sense of euphoria, of the power to come lying just out of his grasp. He had not been this giddy since he was a boy. The capital was safely in the hands of the Pandesians now. The coup he had helped orchestrate had worked. The old King Tarnis was dead, Duncan was imprisoned, and Enis, the boy he had helped rise to power, sat as the new King.

Bant grinned widely. Enis owed him his title, his kingship, and with Pandesia ruling Escalon and Enis their instilled ruler, that meant that Bant would have unlimited power. With Enis in power, he and his people were untouchable. Pandesia could never harm him, never invade his canyon, his stronghold, and he had assured his and his people’s safety for years to come. More than that, he had assured their power in the new Escalon. With all the other strongholds invaded, Barris would be the last and only remaining bastion of freedom, of independence.

Soon enough, Escalon would look to him to lead. And he would kill Enis when he least expected it, and naturally rise to power.

Bant grinned wide, turning through a city gate, rushing to see Enis right now. He had gambled on the right side, indeed. He could only imagine if he had put his lot with Duncan, where he would be right now. Dead, by a Pandesian blade.

Sure, he had had to betray some of his people, Duncan most of all. But that barely bothered him. A conscience, he learned long ago, was something he had to let go of if he was determined to rise to power. And determined he was. One of the things he looked forward to the most, in fact, was watching Duncan hang from the gallows. Only then would he feel completely at ease.

Bant turned the corner, finally reaching the palace entrance, and he looked up in the early morning sun. He raised a hand to his eyes and could see, high up, there Enis stood, beside the battlements, Ra by his side. Bant grinned. The two of them were alone up there. That meant that, already, Ra was turning to Enis for council. Enis would be untouchable, and Bant would be, too.

Bant was about to rush to the stairs, ascend to speak to Enis, when suddenly he thought he detected motion out of the corner of his eye. He looked up, and for a moment he could not process what he saw. There was Enis. But he was no longer standing on the parapets. Instead, he was shrieking, falling, flying through the air.

Bant watched in horror as he hit the ground with a splat, but feet away from him. Dead.

He looked up, wondering if Enis had slipped. But he saw Ra looking down, grinning, and he knew he had not. Bant could not believe it. Enis was dead. And Ra had killed him.

Bant gulped. His hope for power, for safety, was already crushed. Already, Pandesia had gone back on their word. He, too, had been betrayed. No one was safe.

Bant jumped into the shadows, hoping Ra had not seen him. He stood there, his back to the wall, sweating, breathing hard.

Then, when enough time had passed, he darted from the shadows and ran. He ran and ran, out the gate, away from the capital, and somewhere into the day, determined to get as far away from the capital as he could.

Kyra rode across Escalon, as she had all day and night, desperate to reach Andros, to free her father before it was too late. It had been a long, harrowing night of riding, guided only by the stars, and yet she had persevered, knowing every moment was precious, knowing there was no chance to stop.

Despite the sleepless night, Kyra felt stronger than ever. She rode, driven by a sense of purpose, and felt ready, ever since her healing, to take on the hordes of the world. She reflected on her training, her newfound ability to summon her powers, to move objects with just with her mind, and she knew they were real. She felt ready to confront whatever army faced her, to do whatever she had to do to save her father—even if it meant her own death. She only prayed that it was not too late.

As she emerged from the woods and crested a series of hills, finally the night sky gave way to a breaking dawn, and all of Escalon opened up before her. She looked out through the early morning mist, the countryside sparkling in the dawn, and her heart fluttered in anticipation as she finally spotted, on the horizon, the contours of the great capital of Andros, sprawling, it seemed, to the end of the world. Here was the city she remembered from her youth, with its massive, arched drawbridge, its imposing stone gates, its gatehouses, battlements, turrets, and imposing façade. Her heart beat faster. Her father, she knew, was behind those walls, and this time, nothing of this earth would stop her from getting him back.

Kyra kicked Andor and they rode even faster, heading for the city. She saw in the distance the garrison of Pandesian soldiers stationed before the city, a sea of yellow and blue, glistening in the dawn, and she tensed, prepared.

As she neared, they clearly noticed her approach; a horn sounded, and hundreds of troops broke off and began charging right for her, lances lowered, visors down.

Kyra tightened her grip on her staff, increasing her speed, ready for anything. Those soldiers stood between her and the gates, and that, she could not allow. Kyra let out a battle cry, knowing this charge was reckless, yet knowing she had no choice. She was stronger now, she could feel it; she had powers from her training, powers she had never had before. She felt she could fight this army.

Kyra charged, closing the gap as hundreds of Pandesians in their clanging armor rushed forward in rows to meet her. She would not shy away, but meet them fearlessly. She could see them all grinning, as if expecting a quick and easy victory—and she was determined to give them a different outcome.

As the first sword came down for her head, Kyra focused on her innate power. She felt an intense heat rise up within her, tingling in her arms, hands. She felt more alive than ever, and she swung her staff and knocked swords from three soldiers’ hands in one blow. She swung around again and slashed two more soldiers across the chest, knocking them off their horses. She felt a foreign, unknown power coursing through her, hinted at in her training with Alva, one that had always been just out of her reach. She felt, oddly, as if her mother were with her.

Kyra ducked as one soldier swung a flail at her head, then she cracked him in the ribs, felling him. She never slowed, charging forward into the thick of battle, slashing and jabbing soldiers every which way, dodging and ducking and weaving, feeling her supernatural power urge her forward, making her faster than all those around her as she cut a path through the ranks. She kept in her sights the contours of Andros, and kept in the forefront of her mind her father, imprisoned, needing her help—and she let her adrenaline push her on.

Leo and Andor fought as they went, too, Andor kicking viciously, knocking out other horses, felling their riders, Leo snarling and biting, killing any soldier who came too close to her. Kyra swung her staff again and again, and as she did, she began to close her eyes, finding she could tune in better that way. She summoned her power and was able to summon a yellow orb of light, shooting forth from the end of the staff, and she killed a dozen soldiers in a single explosion.

Kyra swung again the staff again, and as she did, an orb flew in the other direction, taking out a dozen more soldiers.

She swung again—and again. Soon the battlefield was filled with dead soldiers, hundreds of them lying on the ground all around her. It was as if she were a tornado, cutting through their ranks.

Kyra continued to charge, getting ever closer to the bridge to Andros. She had to cross it. She swung her staff as she went, feeling invincible, shooting orbs of light in every direction and felling dozens of soldiers. She took aim and blew up the stone garrison, killing hundreds more Pandesian soldiers as they tried to exit, thinking of her father as she took vengeance for him.

As Kyra approached the bridge, she saw the portcullis beyond it open, and she watched as thousands more soldiers came charging out of the city, right for her. It was a sea of blue and yellow.

She swung her staff again, but this time, to her horror, no orb appeared. Somehow, her power had stopped—there was now nothing in her hand but an ordinary staff. Had Alva been right? Was she not ready yet?

Having felt so invincible but moments before, Kyra now looked out at the sight before her and felt more vulnerable than ever. She realized now that she was in grave danger. She looked out, struggling to understand what had happened, and as she did, she spotted a single dark sorcerer, wearing a scarlet cape, emerging from the city. She saw the red orb of light in his hand, and she sensed immediately that she was up against a power far greater than hers.

Suddenly, Kyra felt the first blow; a soldier charged and struck her on the shoulder with his shield. Knocked off her horse, she landed on the ground, winded, tumbling amidst the hostile army.

Kyra raised her staff and did her best to block the blows as the Pandesian soldiers closed in on her. She swung left and right, the clang of her staff ringing out as she blocked one sword slash after the next. They struck her with swords and halberds and flails, and she managed to turn in every direction and duck and weave and block all the attacks. She even managed to strike back, killing many and knocking several down.

Andor and Leo rushed forward and helped, Andor viciously kicking soldiers back, biting them, tearing them to pieces, while Leo leapt and sank his fangs into the arms of anyone who came too close to her.

Yet as more and more soldiers closed in, their ranks never-ending, Kyra felt herself tiring. She lowered her shoulders just a bit, slowing down, and one blow snuck through, wounding her shoulder, making her cry out. At the same time, a new group of soldiers surrounded Andor and Leo, clubbing them until they were on their backs, pounced upon from all sides.

Kyra felt horrific pain in her other shoulder as another blow snuck through, this one from a war hammer. Then a moment later, she felt herself kicked in the chest, and went stumbling back. There were just too many of them, and she realized with horror that she was too exhausted, too weak to stop them all. Alva had been right; she did not have the strength to take on this army alone. She had managed to kill hundreds of soldiers, to fight brilliantly, and to summon her powers to make it happen. But that dark sorcerer had overpowered her somehow, had stopped up the source of her powers, and she knew, with her human energy waning, her time was over.

Kyra felt the blows descending upon her from all directions now, and after a particularly vicious blow of a club to her ribcage, she stumbled and fell to the ground.

She lay there, hardly able to breathe, the blows still coming, unable to move. She looked up as the sky blackened with men, and saw them all closing in on her, raising their weapons. She reached for her staff, but it was kicked away from her. Another soldier stepped on her wrist with his boot. She lay there, helpless, looking up at what she could see of the sky, and knew she was about to die.

A Pandesian soldier stepped up, raised his sword high with both hands, and stared down at her. She could see the hatred in his eyes. He was preparing to finish her off, and she had no doubt that he would.

She closed her eyes and braced herself. She no longer felt fear; just remorse. She wished, more than anything, she had been able to free her father before she died.

I am sorry, Father,
she thought.
I let you down.

Alec stood at the bow of the ship and stared out into the eerie harbor before them. He watched, transfixed, as they sailed between outcroppings of rock, weaving their way circuitously through the archipelago of the Lost Isles. They passed one abandoned isle after the next, all covered in a shroud of fog and mist. The silence was punctuated only by the sound of exotic creatures leaping from the water and splashing in the mist; Alec rarely caught a glimpse of them, leaving him to wonder just what else was swimming beneath the surface. It only deepened his sense of mystery of this place.

These islands seemed so desolate here at the end of the world, separated from the mainland by thousands of miles of ocean, hidden by a persistent mist. Alec watched in fascination as they passed enormous blue boulders, emerging from the sea like hands reaching for the sky. They passed islands made entirely of seaweed, immense black birds cawing on them, as large as he, watching him pass as if he were trespassing in their land. They passed isles of jagged rock, the terrain so sharp there was nowhere to even set foot. He had seen nothing even remotely inhabitable.