A Forge of Valor (23 page)

Soldiers shrieked as they realized. They stumbled and then, as they looked over the edge to see what was happening, fell over the sides. They scrambled about in confusion, trying to stop the ship, to turn it back, but there was no time. The ship continued to sail into the spikes, and within moments it collapsed into a pile of wood.

All the soldiers shrieked as they were thrown overboard, all unable to swim in their armor, sinking into the depths as fast as their ship.

Dierdre looked across the harbor to see Marco smiling back at her, and she knew they had done it. Their deaths might be imminent, but at least they’d had their moment of revenge. They’d shown the Pandesians that they could be hurt, that Ur could fight back.

Horns sounded all up and down the harbor, and Dierdre turned to see other Pandesian ships take notice of what had happened. They all suddenly stopped in the harbor before entering the canals. And then, as she watched them, they all began to do something even more curious—they began to turn around and sail back into the harbor, away from Ur.

It was strange. Why, she wondered, were they leaving? It was as if they all wanted to get as far away as possible. But why?

A chorus of horns suddenly sounded, and on their heels there followed a cacophony of cannon fire. The air shook and thunder filled the city, and Dierdre, rocked by the noise, could not understand what they were firing at. There were no standing buildings anymore, and everyone inside was dead. She examined the cannons and saw the new, low angle, and it dawned on her: the cannons were not aiming for buildings this time—but for the canal. The cannonballs suddenly impacted, shattering the stone walls of the canals. The walls exploded, and water gushed onto the city streets.

Dierdre finally understood. They were flooding the tunnels beneath the city.

“NO!” she shrieked.

Dierdre rushed forward, thinking of those they had saved below, desperate to help them before they drowned.

But it was too late. One at a time the canal walls collapsed, sending millions of tons of water rushing belowground. One by one, each tunnel was flooded, and Dierdre could do nothing as she heard below the shrieks of the people she had saved. She watched it all unfold in despair, never feeling so helpless as she watched and heard all those people drown beneath her.

Marco swam up beside her.

“We must save them!” Dierdre cried out.

She threw caution to the wind and rushed for one of the openings—but he grabbed her arm.

“It’s too late!” he cried. “They’re already dead. We must run. Now!”

“NO!” she cried.

She threw off his arm and ran for the iron hatches. She knelt down before one and somehow managed to pry it open.

As she did, water shot up, gushing all over her. There floated up a dead body, one of the people she had saved, a girl, eyes open wide, lifeless. It floated out onto the streets, face up, staring at her, dead.

Suddenly, the city fell silent. All the cannon fire stopped, and Dierdre was even more puzzled to see the ships retreating, going farther out into the harbor, as if leaving the city. All the soldiers were leaving the streets, too, retreating to the harbor, to the ships. Could it be? she wondered. Was the invasion over?

Then something more ominous happened. In the silence, Dierdre watched as all the cannons were adjusted again, turned sideways, this time, to the supporting walls of the harbor. It made no sense. Why would they turn the cannons that way?

Just as it began to dawn on her, with horror, there came a final volley of cannon fire, louder than all the others combined.

And after that, everything changed.

The massive stone walls, ten feet thick, protecting the city from the sea, all exploded into pieces. As they did, the entire weight of the ocean, all of the Sea of Sorrow, came gushing into the Ur. Before her there unfolded the biggest tidal wave she had ever seen.

It was like watching a nightmare unfold before her. The massive wave of water gushed right for them, gaining speed, submerging each block of the city as it went. Within moments, this once-great city was completely underwater.

There was no time for Dierdre to react, to do anything, except to cling to Marco. He clung to her, too, watching in panic as his death approached, both of them too shocked to even scream as the tidal wave came right for them.

And then, a moment later, Dierdre found herself hundreds of feet underwater, tumbling, unable to breathe, hopelessly lost, drowning amidst a city that no longer was.

Kyra knelt before her mother, feeling a chill as she dwelled on her final word.

Marda
.

A journey alone, into the heart of darkness.

And yet as her mother said it, Kyra knew immediately that that was where she was meant to be. Kyra, eyes closed, dwelled on the image, saw flashing before her a land of ash and fire. A land of blackness, of evil. A land of a monster troll race, of grotesque beings that tore people to pieces for fun. A land from which no one returned.

Yet that was, she sensed, where she was needed most, to retrieve the Staff of Truth. And she herself, Kyra knew, was the only one who could do it.

As Kyra dwelled on how to reach Marda, there flashed through her mind the image of a dragon. She was confused as she saw it was not Theos, but another dragon. A baby dragon. And then, suddenly, she knew: it was Theos’s son. He was still alive, but barely.

She felt his power coursing through her veins as if it were her own, and for a moment, they were connected. She willed the baby dragon to live. To come back to life. For her. For their shared mission.

Kyra, eyes still closed, raised a palm high into the air, and at that moment she felt herself tapping her power, creating, summoning. An energy burned through her veins and she felt herself no longer at the whim of the universe—but controlling it.

Kyra opened her eyes, and she felt as if she were opening the eyes of the dragon. And at that moment, she knew he would live. And he would listen.

Kyra opened her eyes, burning with questions for her mother, needing to know more. She had a lifetime of questions she wanted answered, most of all: would her mother come with her?

Yet as Kyra opened her eyes, she was aghast to see her mother was gone.

She turned and looked everywhere, and yet she was nowhere to be found. She saw only the ruins of this city, the Lost Temple, heard only the wind howling through this abandoned place, and she could only wonder if she had ever seen her at all.

“MOTHER!”

Yet somehow, she still felt her mother’s presence with her, more strongly now than ever. Would her mother come back to her?

Kyra heard something, and she looked to the skies and knew it was the screech of a baby dragon. It filled the air, and as she looked up, she saw Theos’s baby appear. He swooped down from the clouds, diving, screeching, flapping his wings, and she could feel his strength. Though he was a baby, she could already sense his power. She felt a connection with him, a connection even stronger than that she’d had with his father, and she knew they would never be apart. This dragon was filled with rage, filled with a power as wide as the universe.

The baby dove down and finally landed at Kyra’s feet, sitting there on the rock, but feet away from her. It flapped its wings, steam emitting from its nostrils, as it stared right at her with its intense, scarlet eyes.

She stepped forward and ran a hand across its scales, down its neck, and she felt its power, like a jolt through her palms.

Theon.

“Theon is your name,” she said, feeling it.

Theon raised his head and screeched, as if in approval.

Kyra, in one quick motion, mounted the dragon, climbing onto his back.

“GO FORTH, THEON!” she cried.

Without a moment’s hesitation Theon took off, lifting into the air, flapping his great wings. Kyra felt the exhilarating rush of being in the sky, ready to quest anywhere in the world. She looked down as they flew and saw the Lost Temple getting smaller, the ocean waves spread out below, crashing into it, already seeming so minuscule, so far away.

Kyra clutched Theon’s fledgling scales as they flew, feeling more powerful than ever, as the world rushed by her with dizzying speed. She could feel the invincible power of the dragon beneath her, lending her strength. It flew high and dove down, roaring, like a caged beast thrilled to be free, thrilled to be reunited with her. It was as if they had known each other forever.

Its great wings flapped furiously, a fraction of the size of his father’s; yet Kyra could feel that what Theon lacked in size, he made up for in will. He was, she could sense, a ball of pride and rage. As they flew, Kyra felt as if she were holding onto his father, felt the same bloodline coursing through.

Theon soared higher into a patch of clouds, stretching his wings to full capacity, gliding. She felt he was growing bigger, stronger, with every flap, his wings expanding before her eyes, now a good twenty feet long. His claws expanded and contracted, and he flew faster, she realized, than his father. It took Kyra’s breath away.

They finally burst through a patch of clouds, and Kyra looked ahead to the horizon, focusing, knowing where they needed to go. Marda. It summoned her, like some dark corner of her soul urging her to go forth. It was a journey from which she knew there would likely be no return. But that was, she knew, the essence of valor. Her father would never shy from such a journey. And neither would she.

It pained her, the thought of leaving Escalon, leaving her homeland in its time of need; what pained her even more was the idea of leaving her father, especially at the time she was needed most. But that was what her duty demanded of her.

Kyra looked down as they flew, seeing nothing but cloud cover. She felt a burning desire to lay eyes on her homeland before she left it for the last time.

“Down, Theon!” she cried.

Theon hesitated, as if not wishing to, as if knowing her command could have dire consequences. And yet, finally, as she laid a hand on his neck, he obliged.

Theon dipped beneath the clouds, and Kyra felt her heart ache as she saw the countryside beneath her. There was her homeland, sprawled out in all its glory, endless hills of green. They dipped and soared, passing small farming villages, smoke rising from chimneys. They flew over snow-filled plains, over mountains and peaks. They flew over lakes and rivers, waterfalls and plains, the terrain ever-changing. It was the Escalon she loved and knew.

They flew even further, over forts, strongholds, and her heart sank to find many of them smoldering, either abandoned or destroyed. She saw sporadic flames throughout the countryside, and she gasped as she saw the damage that the Pandesians and trolls had inflicted upon her land. It was like a plague had descended upon it. Like the hand of God. Her land, once so bountiful, now looked doomed, cursed.

What made her feel worse was that she felt it was all because of her. If she’d never had that encounter with those soldiers that snowy night, had never discovered a wounded Theos, perhaps none of this would have ever happened. She had been the catalyst, she felt, had been the spark for the revolution of their homeland.

All for what? she wondered. Escalon was now torn to pieces, worse off than it ever was, and her father sat in a dungeon cell. Was this the revolution they were supposed to have? Would it have been better to sit quietly in their towns and not rebel?

She looked down and saw bands of Pandesian troops, marching in perfect columns in their gleaming yellow and blue armor, dragging shackled prisoners, men she recognized immediately by their arms as her father’s men. It pained her. She wanted to dip down, to battle the Pandesians right now. Yet she remembered her sacred mission, and she knew she could not afford to deviate.

Kyra looked up ahead and saw on the horizon the dim outline of the capital city of Andros. She knew her father lay in there somewhere, and the thought of it killed her. She could not turn back for him, she knew. Her duty must be to Escalon first.

Yet as she flew past it, seeing the city outlined below, it burned in her veins. She knew she had a duty to fulfill; yet how could she turn her back on her father, her flesh and blood? She was stronger now. She had her powers. She had Theon beneath her. Nothing could stop her this time. This time, she was sure, would be different.

As Kyra flew over the city, she felt herself tingling. She knew she was faced with the decision of a lifetime. And, slowly, the passion of her heart overwhelmed her.

“Turn, Theon,” she commanded, her voice steely and cool.

Theon roared, as if in protest, as if he knew nothing good could come of it.

Yet she pulled at his neck, again and again.

“I command you!” she cried, locked in her first power struggle with him.

Kyra closed her eyes and summoned her power and she felt a strength rise within her, a strength that was stronger even than the dragon’s, a power that forced him to slowly but surely turn back around.

Theon flew reluctantly, as if in protest. And yet he flew.

Deep down, Kyra knew this was wrong; it was not what she was supposed to be doing. Yet she had no choice. It was what her heart commanded she do. She saw Andros below, and her heart slammed. She would save her father this time. And then she could journey to Marda.

Kyra spotted columns of Pandesian soldiers below, leaned over, and commanded Theon.

“Attack!”

Theon dove, filled with rage himself, not needing to be asked twice. He opened his mouth, roared an earth-shattering roar, and let out as strong a flame as she’d ever seen. Within moments, hundreds of Pandesians, looking up and searching the skies, were aflame, shrieking, burning to their deaths, trapped in their armor.

Theon seemed to take great satisfaction as he flew low to the ground, zigzagging, burning the entire battalion of Pandesian troops. Kyra felt the satisfaction, too. She felt invincible.

Those who remained fled in every direction, running like ants. More battalions of Pandesian soldiers arrived, though, as they neared the city gates, and these were armed, prepared. They looked up and threw spears, fired arrows, taking aim at Theon and Kyra. A wall of death rose up—yet Theon, fearless, refused to rise, to dodge. He stayed low to the ground and faced them head on.