Rise of the Dragons (12 page)

Kyra raced through the snow until she
reached the top of a hill, brushing back the thick branches in her way, and
burst into a clearing—and she suddenly stopped short. All of her anticipation
could not prepare her for what she saw before her.

Her breath was taken away—not by the
blizzard or the cold or the wind—but this time because of the sight, unlike any
she’d ever seen her life. She had heard the tales, night after night in her
father’s chamber, the ancient stories and legends of dragons, wondering if they
were true. She had tried to imagine them in her mind’s eye, had stayed up many
a sleepless night visualizing. And yet still she somehow could not believe it
to be true.

Not until now.

For before her, hardly twenty feet away,
Kyra was shocked to find herself standing face to face with a real, breathing
dragon. It was terrifying—yet magnificent. It screeched as it lay on its side,
trying to get up but unable, one wing flapping and the other appearing to be
broken. It was huge, massive even, each scarlet-red scale the size of her,
lying on the ground, having taken out a hundred trees, all of them flattened in
the clearing around it, making Kyra wonder if it had fallen from the sky.

The dragon lay close to a gushing river,
on a steep snow bank, and as she stared, agape, Kyra tried to process the sight
before her. A dragon. Here, in Escalon, in Volis, in the Wood of Thorns. It
couldn’t be. Dragons, she knew, lived on the other side of the world, and never
in her life, or her father’s time, or her father’s father’s time, had one been
spotted on her side of the world—much less in her own wood. It made no sense.

She blinked several times and rubbed her
eyes, thinking it must be an illusion.

But there it was, shrieking again,
digging its claws in the snow, which, she saw, trailed blood. It was definitely
wounded. And it was definitely a dragon.

Kyra knew she should turn and flee, and
a part of her wanted to; after all, it could kill her with a single breath,
much less a stroke of its claws. She had heard the stories of the damage
dragons had done, of their hatred for mankind, of their ability to tear a
person to shreds in the blink of an eye, or wipe out an entire village with a
single breath.

But something within Kyra made her hold
her ground. She did not know if it was courage or foolishness or her own
desperation—or something deeper. For deep down, as crazy as it was, she felt an
affinity for this creature, some sort of primal connection. She knew it made no
sense—and yet she could not ignore it.

It blinked at her, slowly, staring back
at her with just as much surprise. What terrified Kyra most of all were its eyes—not
that the glowing yellow orbs were so fierce, so ancient, so soulful—but that
they were the exact same eyes she had seen in her own reflection in the Lake of
Dreams.

Kyra braced herself, expecting to be
killed—but it did not breathe fire. Instead, it just stared at her. It was
bleeding, its blood running down the snow bank into the river, and it pained
Kyra to see it. She wanted to help it. Every clan in the kingdom had an oath
they lived by, a sacred law they had to uphold, which they could never violate,
at the risk of bringing a curse on their family. Her clan’s law was to never
kill a wounded animal—indeed, it was the very insignia of her father’s house, a
knight holding a wolf. And as she watched it breathing, labored, gasping, her
heart went out to it, wanting to make it well again, whatever the risk.

As Kyra stood transfixed, unable to
move, she realize it was also for another reason: she felt a tremendous
connection to this beast, more so than to any animal she had ever encountered,
more so even than to Leo, who was like a brother to her. It was as if she had
just been reunited with a long-lost family member, an ancient friend. She could
sense its tremendous power and pride and fierceness, and just being around it
inspired her. It made her want to think big, to feel as if anything were
possible in this world.

As Kyra stood at the edge of the wood,
debating what action to take, suddenly she was startled to hear a branch break
and to hear laughter—a cruel man’s laughter. As she watched, she was shocked to
see a soldier, dressed in the important furs of the Lord’s Men, saunter into
the clearing, wielding a long spear, and stand over the dragon.

Kyra flinched as the soldier suddenly
jabbed the dragon in its ribcage, making it shriek and curl up, and she felt as
if she had been stabbed herself. Clearly the soldier was taking advantage of
this wounded beast, torturing it before killing it; the thought pained Kyra to
no end.

“My ax, boy!” the soldier yelled out,
and as he did, a boy warily entered the clearing, leading a horse. He appeared
to be a squire, a lad of perhaps fifteen, and he seemed terrified as he
approached, eyeing the dragon.

He did as commanded and drew a long ax
from the saddle, placing it into his master’s hand.

Kyra watched with a sense of dread as
the soldier raised the ax high, glistening in the moonlight, and walked closer
to the dragon. He studied its head.

“I’d say this will make a fine trophy,”
the soldier said, proud of himself. “They will sing songs of me for this kill
of all kills.”

“But you did not kill it,” his squire
protested. “It was wounded when you found it.”

The soldier turned and held the edge of
the ax to the boy’s throat threateningly.

“I killed it, boy, do you understand?”

The boy gulped, frozen, then slowly
nodded.

The soldier turned, raised his ax, and
took aim at the dragon’s exposed neck. The dragon struggled to move, to lift
itself up, but it could not. It was helpless.

The dragon blinked helplessly, and
suddenly it turned and looked directly at Kyra, its yellow eyes aglow, and she
could feel it calling right to her.

Kyra could hold herself back no longer.

“NO!” she cried.

Without thinking, Kyra ran forward and
burst into the clearing, rushing down the slope and slipping in the snow, Leo
at her side. She did not stop to think that confronting a Lord’s Man was a
crime punishable by death, that she was alone out here, exposed, that her
actions would likely get her killed. She thought only of saving the dragon’s
life, of protecting what was innocent.

As Kyra stumbled forward, she
instinctively pulled the bow from over her shoulder and placed an arrow, aiming
in the soldier’s direction.

The soldier looked truly stunned to see
another person out there, in the middle of nowhere—much less a girl holding a
bow at him. He stood holding his ax, frozen in midair, then slowly lowered it
as he turned and faced her.

Kyra’s arms shook as she held the
bowstring and aimed it at the man’s chest, not wanting to fire if she didn’t
have to. She had never killed a man before, and was not sure if she could.

“Lower your ax,” she commanded, trying
to use her fiercest voice. She wished at a time like this that she possessed
the deep, commanding voice of her father.

“And who commands me?” the man called
back in a mocking voice, grinning, appearing amused.

But she was undeterred.

“I am Kyra,” she said, “daughter of
Duncan,
Commander
of Volis.” She added the last bit with emphasis,
hoping to scare him into backing down.

But he only grinned wider.

“An empty title,” he countered. “You are
all serfs to Pandesia, like the rest of Escalon. You answer to their Lord
Governor—like everybody else.”

He looked her up and down and licked his
lips, then took a threatening step toward her, clearly unafraid.

“Do you know the penalty for aiming a
weapon at a Lord’s Man, girl? I could imprison you and your father and all of
your people just for this.”

The dragon suddenly breathed hard,
labored, gasping, and the soldier turned back and glanced at it, remembering.

He turned back to Kyra.

“I shall forget your act of treason,” he
said, “and you shall run off now, back to your father, and count your blessings
I let you live. Now piss off!”

The soldier turned his back on her
derisively, done with her, ignoring her bow completely, as if she were
harmless. He raised his ax again, took a step forward, and held it over the
dragon’s throat.

Kyra felt herself flush with rage.

“I will not tell you again,” she said,
her voice lower this time, filled with meaning, surprising even her.

She drew her bow further back, and the
soldier turned and looked at her, and this time he did not smile, as if
realizing she were serious. Kyra was puzzled as she noticed him look to her
side, over her shoulder, as if watching something behind her. In the same
moment she realized what he was doing—that he was watching someone come up
behind her—she suddenly detected motion out of the corner of her eye—but it was
too late to react.

Kyra felt herself slammed from the side,
went flying sideways and dropped her bow, its arrow shooting harmlessly up in
the air. A heavy body landed on top of her as she was tackled to the ground, so
deep in the snow she could hardly breathe.

Kyra, disoriented, fought her way back
to the surface to find a soldier on top of her, pinning her down, and was
baffled. She saw four of the Lord’s Men standing over her, and she realized
what had happened: there had been more of them. So stupid of her, she realized,
for assuming that solider was alone. These other men must have been lurking
somewhere out there and had crept up behind her. That’s why, she realized now,
the first soldier had been so brazen with a bow trained on him.

Two of the men roughly dragged her to
her feet, while the other two stepped close. They were cruel men with boorish
faces, unshaven, hardened, eager for bloodlust—or worse. She could see it in
their eyes. One began to unbuckle his belt.

“So we have a girl with a little bow, do
we?” asked one, mocking.

“You should have stayed home in your
daddy’s fort,” said another.

Barely had he finished speaking when
there came a snarling noise, and Leo suddenly leapt through the snow, pouncing
on one and pinning him down. Another one of the men turned and kicked Leo, but
Leo turned and bit his ankle, dropping him. Leo went back and forth between the
two soldiers, snarling and biting as they kicked him back.

The two other soldiers, though, stayed
fixated on Kyra, and with Leo tied up, she felt a wave of panic. Strangely
enough, though, she realized that, despite her circumstances, she did not feel
panic for herself—but for the dragon. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the
first soldier once again raise his sword high and turn and approach the beast,
and she knew that in a moment, it would be dead.

Kyra reacted instinctively. As one of
the soldiers momentarily loosened his grip on her arm, caught off guard by Leo,
she reached behind her, drew the staff sheathed to her back, brought it down on
an angle with lightning speed, and struck one soldier perfectly in the pressure
point in his temple, dropping him before he could react.

She then pulled back the staff, slid her
grip all the way up so she could use it at close range, and jabbed the other
soldier beside her on the bridge of the nose. He shrieked, gushing blood, and
dropped to his knees.

Kyra knew that she could finish these
two men off easily. They were now prone, Leo had the other two pinned down and
struggling, and this was her chance to kill them with a few deadly blows.

But her heart was still with the
dragon—it was all she could think of. So with shaking hands she ran to her bow,
picked it up, and placed an arrow, knowing she barely had time to think, much
less to aim. She had one shot, she knew, and it had to be true. It would be the
first shot she had ever taken in action, in real battle, in the dark, in the
blinding snow and wind, between trees and branches and twenty yards off.

Kyra summoned all of her training, all
of her long days and nights of shooting, everything she had within her, and
forced herself to focus.

Kyra drew and released, becoming one
with her weapon, and time slowed as she watched the arrow fly, hearing its
whistle, for the first time unsure if it would hit. There were too many
variables at play, from the gale of wind to her frozen hands, to the movement
of the soldier.

A moment later, though, she heard the
satisfying thump of arrow piercing flesh. She heard the soldier cry out, and
she watched his face in the moonlight as he stood there, frozen, ax still
raised overhead—and an arrow through his throat.

He stood there, stunned, then slowly
dropped his ax, falling face-first, dead.

The dragon blinked and looked over at
Kyra and their eyes met. Its huge yellow eyes, glowing even in the night,
seemed to acknowledge what she had done, and in that moment she felt they were
having a spiritual meeting. As if they had just made a connection for life.

Kyra was in shock, hardly believing what
she had done. Had she really just killed a man? And not just any man—but a
Lord’s Man. It was an act from which there was no return—an act which would
spark a war and embroil all her people in it. What had she done?