Rise of the Valiant (2 page)

“Cowards die
many times before their deaths;

The valiant
never taste of death but once.”

--William Shakespeare
Julius Caesar

Kyra walked
slowly through the carnage, snow crunching beneath her boots, taking in the
devastation the dragon had left behind. She was speechless. Thousands of the
Lord’s Men, the most feared men in Escalon, lay dead before her, wiped out in
an instant. Charred bodies lay smoking all around her, the snow melted beneath
them, their faces contorted in agony. Skeletons, twisted in unnatural
positions, still clutched their weapons in bony fingers. A few corpses stood in
place, their frames somehow staying vertical, still looking up at the sky as if
wondering what had killed them.

Kyra stopped
beside one, examining it with wonder. She reached out and touched it, her
finger grazing its rib cage, and she watched in amazement as it crumbled and
fell, clattering to the ground in a heap of bones, its sword falling harmlessly
by its side.

Kyra heard a
screech high overhead and she craned her neck to see Theos, circling high
above, breathing flame as if still unsatisfied. She could feel what he was
feeling, feel the rage burning in his veins, his desire to destroy all of
Pandesia—indeed, the entire world—if he could. It was a primal rage, a rage
which knew no bounds.

The sound of
boots in the snow snapped her out of it, and Kyra looked back to see her
father’s men, dozens of them, walking through, taking in the destruction, eyes
wide in shock. These battle-hardened men had clearly never seen a sight like
this; even her father, standing nearby, joined by Anvin, Arthfael and Vidar,
seemed frazzled. It was like walking through a dream.

Kyra noticed
these brave warriors turn from searching the skies to looking at her, a sense
of wonder in their eyes. It was as if
she
were the one who had done all
of this, as if she were the dragon herself. After all, only she had been able
to summon it. She looked away, feeling uncomfortable; she could not tell if
they looked at her as if a warrior or a freak. Perhaps they did not know
themselves.

Kyra thought
back to her prayer on the Winter Moon, her wish to know if she were special, if
her powers were real. After today, after this battle, she could have no doubts.
She had
willed
that dragon to come. She had felt it herself. How, she
did not know. But she knew now, definitively, that she was different. And she
could not help but wonder if that also meant the other prophecies about her
were true. Was she then truly destined to become a great warrior? A great
ruler? Greater even than her father? Would she truly lead nations into battle?
Would the fate of Escalon truly hang upon her shoulders?

Kyra did not see
how it could be possible. Maybe Theos had come for his own reasons; maybe his
damage here had nothing to do with her. After all, the Pandesians had injured
him—hadn’t they?

Kyra no longer
felt sure of anything. All she knew was that, in this moment, feeling the
strength of the dragon burning in her veins, walking this battlefield, seeing
their greatest foe dead, she felt that all things were possible. She knew she
was no longer a fifteen-year-old girl hoping for approval in other men’s eyes;
she was no longer a plaything for the Lord Governor—for any man—to do with as
he wished; she was no longer the property of other men, to be married off,
abused, tortured. She was her own person now. A warrior among men—and one to be
feared.

Kyra walked
through the sea of bodies until finally the corpses stopped and the landscape
morphed to ice and snow again. She paused beside her father, taking in the
vista as down below the valley spread out beneath them. There lay the wide open
gates of Argos, a city emptied, all its men dead in these hills. It was eerie
to see such a great fort sitting vacant, unguarded. Pandesia’s most important
stronghold was now wide open for anyone to enter. Its daunting high walls,
carved of thick stone and spikes, its thousands of men and layers of defenses,
had precluded any idea of revolt; its presence here had allowed Pandesia an
iron grip on the whole of northeastern Escalon.

They all set off
down the slope and onto the winding road that led to the city gates. It was a
victorious but solemn walk, the road littered with more dead bodies, stragglers
whom the dragon had sought out, markers on the trail to destruction. It was
like walking through a graveyard.

As they passed
through the awesome gates, Kyra paused at the threshold, her breath taken away:
inside, she could see, lay thousands more corpses, charred, smoking. It was
what had remained of the Lord’s Men, those late to mobilize. Theos had
forgotten no one; his fury was visible even on the fort’s walls, large swaths
of stone stained black with flame.

As they entered,
Argos was notable for its silence. Its courtyard empty, it was uncanny for such
a city to be so devoid of life. It was as if God had sucked it all up in a
single breath.

As her father’s
men rushed forward, sounds of excitement began to fill the air, and Kyra soon
understood why. The ground, she could see, was littered with a treasure trove
of weapons unlike any she had ever seen. There, spread out on the courtyard
ground, lay the spoils of war: the finest weaponry, the finest steel, the
finest armor she had ever seen, all gleaming with Pandesian markings. There
were even, scattered amongst them, sacks of gold.

Even better, at
the far end of the courtyard there sat a vast stone armory, its doors wide open
as the men had left in haste, revealing inside a bounty of treasures. Walls
were lined with swords, halberds, pikes, hatchets, spears, bows—all made of the
finest steel the world had to offer. There were enough weapons here to arm half
of Escalon.

There came the
sound of neighing, and Kyra looked to the other side of the courtyard to see a
row of stone stables, and inside there stomped an army of the finest horses,
all spared the dragon’s breath. Enough horses to carry an army.

Kyra saw the
look of hope rising in her father’s eyes, a look she had not seen in years, and
she knew what he was thinking: Escalon could rise again.

There came a
screech, and Kyra looked up to see Theos circling lower, talons extended,
flapping his great wings as he flew over the city, a victory lap. His glowing
yellow eyes locked on hers, even from that great distance. She could not look
anywhere else.

Theos dove down
and landed outside the city gates. He sat there proudly, facing her, as if
summoning her. She felt him calling her.

Kyra felt her
skin prickling, the heat rising within her, as she felt an intense connection
with this creature. She had no choice but to approach him.

As Kyra turned
and crossed the courtyard, heading back toward the city gates, she could feel
the eyes of all the men on her, looking from the dragon to her as they stopped
to watch. She walked alone toward the gate, her boots crunching in the snow,
her heart pounding as she went.

As she went,
Kyra suddenly felt a gentle hand on her arm, stopping her. She turned to see
her father’s concerned face looking back.

“Be careful,” he
warned.

Kyra continued
walking, feeling no fear, despite the fierce look in the dragon’s eyes. She
felt only an intense bond with him, as if a part of her had reappeared, a part
she could not live without. Her mind spun with curiosity. Where had Theos come
from? Why had he come to Escalon? Why had he not come back sooner?

As Kyra passed
through Argo’s gates and neared the dragon, his noises grew louder, somewhere
between a purr and a snarl, as he waited for her, his huge wings flapping
gently. He opened his mouth as if to release fire, baring his huge teeth, each one
as long as she, and sharp as a sword. For a moment she was frightened, his eyes
fixed on her with an intensity that made it hard to think.

Kyra finally
came to a stop a few feet before him. She studied him in awe. Theos was
magnificent. He rose thirty feet high, his scales thick, hard, primordial. The
ground trembled as he breathed, his chest rattling, and she felt entirely at
his mercy.

They stood there
in the silence, the two of them facing off, examining each other, and Kyra’s
heart slammed in her chest, the tension in the air so thick she could hardly
breathe.

Her throat dry,
she finally summoned the courage to speak.

“Who are you?”
she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why have you come to me? What do
you want from me?”

Theos lowered
his head, snarling, and leaned forward, so close that his huge snout nearly
touched her chest. His eyes, so huge, glowing yellow, seemed to look right
through her. She stared into them, each nearly as big as her, and felt lost in
another world, another time.

Kyra waited for
the answer. She waited for her mind to be filled with his thoughts, as it once
was.

But she waited
and waited, and was shocked to find her mind was blank. Nothing was coming to
her. Had Theos gone silent? Had she lost her connection to him?

Kyra stared
back, wondering, this dragon more of a mystery than ever. Suddenly, he lowered
his back, as if beckoning her to ride. Her heart quickened as she imagined
herself flying through the skies on his back.

Kyra slowly
walked to his side, reached up, and grabbed his scales, hard and rough,
preparing to grab his neck and climb up.

But no sooner
had she touched him when he suddenly writhed away, making her lose her grip.
She stumbled and he flapped his wings and in one quick motion, lifted off, so
abrupt that her palms scraped against his scales, like sandpaper.

Kyra stood
there, stung, baffled—but most of all, heartbroken. She watched helplessly as
this tremendous creature lifted into the air, screeching, and flew higher and
higher. As quickly as he had arrived, Theos suddenly disappeared into the
clouds, nothing but silence following in his wake.

Kyra stood
there, hollowed out, more alone than ever. And as the last of his cries faded
away, she knew, she just knew, that this time, Theos was gone for good.

Alec ran through
the woods in the black of night, Marco at his side, stumbling over roots
submerged in the snow and wondering if he would make it out alive. His heart
pounded in his chest as he ran for his life, gasping for breath, wanting to
stop but needing to keep pace with Marco. He glanced back over his shoulder for
the hundredth time and watched as the glow from The Flames grew fainter the
deeper into the woods they went. He passed a patch of thick trees, and soon the
glow was entirely gone, the two of them immersed in near blackness.

Alec turned and
groped his way as he bumped off trees, trunks whacking his shoulders, branches
scratching his arms. He peered into the blackness ahead of him, barely making
out a path, trying not to listen to the exotic noises all around him. He had
been duly warned about these woods, where no escapee survived, and he had a
sinking feeling the deeper they went. He sensed the danger here, vicious
creatures lurking everywhere, the wood so dense it was hard to navigate and
growing more tangled which each step he took. He was starting to wonder if he
might have been better off staying back at The Flames.

“This way!”
hissed a voice.

Marco grabbed
his shoulder and pulled him as he forked right, between two huge trees, ducking
beneath their gnarled branches. Alec followed, slipping in the snow, and soon
found himself in a clearing in the midst of the thick forest, the moonlight
shining through, lighting their way.

They both
stopped, bent over, hands on their hips, gasping for breath. They exchanged a
glance, and Alec looked back over his shoulder at the wood. He breathed hard,
his lungs aching from the cold, his ribs hurting, and wondered.

“Why aren’t they
following us?” Alec asked.

Marco shrugged.

“Maybe they know
this wood will do their job for them.”

Alec listened
for the sound of Pandesian soldiers, expecting to be pursued—but there came
none. Instead, though, Alec thought he heard a different sound—like a low,
angry snarl.

“Do you hear
that?” Alec asked, the hair rising on the back of his neck.

Marco shook his
head.

Alec stood
there, waiting, wondering if his mind were playing tricks on him. Then, slowly,
he began to hear it again. It was a distant noise, a faint snarl, menacing,
unlike anything Alec had ever heard. As he listened, it began to grow louder,
as if coming closer.

Marco now looked
at him with alarm.

“That’s why they
didn’t follow,” Marco said, his voice dawning with recognition.

Alec was
confused.

“What do you
mean?” he asked.

“Wilvox,” he
answered, eyes now filled with fear. “They’ve unleashed them after us.”

The word Wilvox
struck terror in Alec; he had heard of them as a child, and he knew they were
rumored to inhabit the Wood of Thorns, but he’d always assumed they were the
stuff of legend. They were rumored to be the deadliest creatures of the
night—the stuff of nightmares.

The snarling intensified,
sounding as if there were several of them.

“RUN!” Marco
implored.

Marco turned and
Alec joined him as the two of them burst across the clearing and back into the
wood. Adrenaline pumped in his veins as Alec ran, hearing his own heartbeat in
his ears, drowning out the sound of ice and snow crunching beneath his boots.
Soon, though, he heard the creatures behind him closing in, and he knew they
were being hunted by beasts they could not outrun.

Alec stumbled
over a root and slammed into a tree; he cried out in pain, winded, then bounced
off it and continued to run. He scanned the woods for any escape, realizing
their time was short—but there was nothing.

The snarling
grew louder, and as he ran, Alec looked back over his shoulder—and immediately
wished he hadn’t. Bearing down on them were four of the most savage creatures
he’d ever laid eyes upon. Resembling wolves, the Wilvox were twice the size,
with small sharp horns sticking out the back of their heads, and one large,
single red eye between the horns. Their paws were the size of a bear’s, with
long, pointed claws, and their coats were slick and as black as night.

Seeing them this
close, Alec knew he was a dead man.

Alec burst
forward with his last ounce of speed, his palms sweating even in the icy cold,
his breath frozen in the air before him. The Wilvox were hardly twenty feet
away and he knew from the desperate look in their eyes, from the drool hanging
from their mouths, that they would tear him to pieces. He saw no means of
escape. He looked to Marco, hoping for some sign of a plan—but Marco carried
the same look of despair. He clearly had no idea what to do either.

Alec closed his
eyes and did something he had never done before: he prayed. Seeing his life
flashing before his eyes, it changed him somehow, made him realize how much he
cherished life, and made him more desperate than he’d ever been to keep it.

Please, God, get
me out of this. After what I did for my brother, don’t let me die here. Not in
this place, and not by these creatures. I’ll do anything.

Alec opened his
eyes, looked up ahead, and as he did, this time he noticed a tree slightly
different than the others. Its branches were more gnarled and hung lower to the
ground, just high enough where he could grab one with a running jump. He had no
idea if Wilvox could climb, but he had no other choice.

“That branch!”
Alec yelled to Marco, pointing.

They ran for the
tree together, and as the Wilvox closed in, but feet away, without pausing,
they each jumped up and grabbed the branch, pulling themselves up.

Alec’s hands
slipped on the snowy wood, but he managed to hang on, and he pulled himself up
until he was grabbing the next branch several feet off the ground. He then
immediately jumped up to the next branch, three feet higher, Marco beside him.
He had never climbed so fast in his life.

The Wilvox
reached them, the pack snarling viciously, jumping and clawing at their feet.
Alec felt their hot breath on the back of his heel a moment before he raised
his foot, the fangs coming down and missing him by an inch. The two of them
kept climbing, propelled by adrenaline, until they were a good fifteen feet off
the ground, and safer than they needed to be.

Alec finally
stopped, clutching a branch with all his might, catching his breath, sweat
stinging his eyes. He looked back down, watching, praying the Wilvox could not
climb, too.

To his immense
relief, they were still on the ground, snarling and snapping, jumping up for
the tree, but clearly unable to climb. They scratched the trunk madly, but to
no avail.

The two sat on
the branch, and as the reality sank in that they were safe, they each breathed
a sigh of relief. Marco burst into laughter, to Alec’s surprise. It was a
madman’s laugh, a laugh of relief, the laugh of a man who had been spared from
a sure death in the most unlikely way.

Alec, realizing
how close they had come, could not help laughing, too. He knew they were still
far from safety; he knew they could never leave this spot, and that they would
even likely die in this place. But for now, at least, they were safe.

“Looks like I
owe you,” Marco said.

Alec shook his
head.

“Don’t thank me
yet,” Alec said.

The Wilvox were
snarling viciously, raising the hair on the back of his neck, and Alec looked
up at the tree, hands trembling, wanting to get even farther away and wondering
how high they could climb, wondering if they had any way out of here.

Suddenly, Alec
froze. As he looked up, he flinched, struck by a terror unlike he had ever
known. There, in the branches above him, looking down, was the most hideous
creature he had ever seen. Eight feet long, with the body of a snake but with
six sets of feet, all with long claws, and a head shaped like an eel’s, it had
narrow slits for eyes, dull yellow, and they focused on Alec. Just feet away,
it arched its back, hissed, and opened its mouth. Alec, in shock, could not
believe how wide it opened—wide enough to swallow him whole. And he knew, from
its rattling tail, that it was about to strike—and kill them both.

Its mouth came
down right for Alec’s throat, and he reacted involuntarily. He shrieked and
jumped back as he lost his grip, Marco beside him, thinking only of getting
away from those deadly fangs, that huge mouth, a sure death.

He did not even
think about what lay below. As he felt himself flying backwards through the
air, flailing, he realized, too late, that he was heading from one set of fangs
to another. He glanced back and saw the Wilvox salivating, opening their jaws,
nothing he could do but brace himself for the descent.

He had exchanged
one death for another.