A Realm of Shadows
A sudden roar ripped through the air, and Kyra looked up and felt a wave of terror as she spotted something in the sky that was very real. The air was filled with dragons of all shapes and sizes and colors, all circling, screeching, breathing fire into the air, filled with fury. As she watched, one swooped down and breathed a column of flame all the way to the ground.
Kyra looked over and took in her surroundings, and her heart skipped a beat as she realized where she was: Andros.
It all came rushing back to her. She had been flying atop Theon, racing back to Andros to save her father, when they had been attacked in the sky by that flock of dragons. They had appeared from nowhere in the sky, had bitten Theon, had thrown them down to the ground. Kyra realized she must have blacked out.
Now she woke to a wave of heat, of awful shrieking, of a capital in chaos, and she looked about and saw the capital aflame. Everywhere, people were running for their lives, shrieking, as fire descended in waves, like a storm. It looked as if the end of the world had come.
Kyra heard labored breathing, and her heart fell to see Theon lying close by, on his side, wounded, blood pouring from his scales. His eyes were closed, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, and he looked on the verge of death. The only reason they were still alive, she realized, was that she and Theon were covered in a mound of rubble. They must have been thrown into a building, which collapsed on top of them. At least that had kept them sheltered, out of view of the dragons high above.
Kyra knew she had to get herself and Theon out of there at once. They hadn’t much time until they were spotted.
“Theon!” she urged.
She turned and heaved, crushed by the rubble, and finally managed to shove a huge piece of rubble off her back, freeing herself. She then hurried over to Theon and frantically shoved at the mound of rubble atop him. She was able to push off most of the rocks, yet as she shoved at the large boulder on his back, pinning him down, she got nowhere. She shoved again and again, yet no matter how hard she tried, it would not budge.
Kyra ran over and grabbed Theon’s face, desperate to rouse him. She stroked his scales, and slowly, to her relief, Theon opened his eyes. Yet he then closed his eyes again, as she shook him harder.
“Wake up!” Kyra demanded. “I need you!”
Theon’s eyes opened again, slightly, then turned and looked over at her. The pain and fury in his eyes softened as he recognized her. He tried to shift, to get up, but clearly he was too weak; the boulder pinned him down.
Kyra shoved the boulder furiously, yet she broke down crying as she realized they could not get it to move. Theon was stuck. He would die here. And so would she.
Kyra, hearing a roar, looked up and saw a massive dragon with spiked green scales had spotted them. It roared with fury, then began to dive right for them.
Leave me.
Kyra heard a voice reverberating deep inside her. Theon’s voice.
Hide. Go far from here. While there is still time.
“No!” she cried, shaking, refusing to leave him.
Go, he urged. Or else we will both die here.
“Then we shall both die!” she cried, a steely determination overtaking her. She would not abandon her friend. Not ever.
The sky darkened and Kyra looked up to see the huge dragon diving down, talons extended. It opened its mouth, rows of sharpened teeth showing, and she knew she would not survive. But she did not care. She would not abandon Theon. Death would take her. But not cowardice. She did not fear dying.
Only not living well.
Chapter Four
Duncan ran with the others through the streets of Andros, hobbling, trying his best to keep pace with Aidan, Motley, and the young girl with them, Cassandra, while Aidan’s dog, White, nipped at his heels and urged him on. Dragging his arm was his old and trusted commander, Anvin, his new squire Septin by his side, trying his best to keep him moving, yet clearly in bad shape himself. Duncan could see how injured his friend was, and it moved him that he had come in this state, had risked his life and traveled all this way to free him.
The ragtag group sprinted down the war-torn streets of Andros, chaos erupting all around them, all the odds against them for survival. On the one hand, Duncan felt so relieved to be free, so happy to see his son again, so grateful to be with all of them. Yet as he searched the skies, he also sensed he had left a jail cell only to be thrown into a sure death. The sky was filled with circling dragons, swooping down, swiping buildings, destroying the city as they breathed their awful columns of flame. Entire streets were filled with fire, blocking off the group’s every turn. As one street at a time was lost, escape from the capital seemed less and less likely.
Motley clearly knew these back alleys well, and he led them deftly, turning down one alley after another, finding shortcuts everywhere, managing to avoid the roving packs of Pandesian soldiers, which was the other threat to their escape. Yet Motley, for all his craftiness, could not avoid the dragons, and as he turned them down another alley, it, too, was suddenly aflame. They all stopped in their tracks, faces burning from the heat, and retreated.
Duncan, covered in sweat as he backed up, looked to Motley, and he took no solace as, this time, Motley turned every which way, his face etched in panic.
“This way!” Motley finally said.
He turned and led them down another side alley, and they ducked beneath a stone arch right before a dragon filled the spot they had just stood with a fresh wave of fire.
As they ran, it pained Duncan to see this great city torn apart, this place he had once loved and defended. He could not help but feel as if Escalon would never be returned to its former glory. That his homeland was ruined forever.
There came a shout, and Duncan glanced back over his shoulder to see dozens of Pandesian soldiers had spotted them. They were chasing them down the alley, closing in, and Duncan knew they could not fight them – and could not outrun them. The exit to the city was still far, and their time had run out.
There suddenly came a great crash – and Duncan looked up to see a dragon swipe the bell tower off the castle with its talons.
“Look out!” he yelled.
He lunged forward and knocked Aidan and the others out of the way right before the remnants of the tower crashed beside them. A huge chunk of stone landed behind him with a deafening crash, raising up a pile of dust.
Aidan looked up at his father, shock and gratitude in his eyes, and Duncan felt a sense of satisfaction that he had at least saved his son’s life.
Duncan heard the muffled shouts, and he turned and realized, with gratitude, that the rubble had at least blocked the way of the pursuing soldiers.
They kept running, Duncan struggling to keep up, his weakness and injuries from his imprisonment gnawing away at him; he was still malnourished, bruised, and beaten, and each step was a painful effort. Yet he forced himself to go on, if for no other reason than to make sure his son and his friends survived. He could not let them down.
They turned a narrow corner and reached a fork in the alleyways. They paused, all looking to Motley.
“We have to get out of this city!” Cassandra yelled to Motley, clearly frustrated. “And you don’t even know where you’re going!”
Motley looked left, then right, clearly stumped.
“There used to be a brothel down this alley,” he said, looking to his right. “It leads out the back of the city.”
“A brothel?” Cassandra retorted. “Nice company that you keep.”
“I don’t care what company you keep,” Anvin added, “as long as it gets us out of here.”
“Let’s just hope it’s not blocked,” Aidan added.
“Let’s go!” Duncan called out.
Motley began to run again, turning right, out of shape and gasping for breath.
They turned and followed, all putting their hope in Motley as he ran through the deserted back alleys of the capital.
They turned again and again, and finally, they came upon a low stone archway. They all ducked, running through it, and as they emerged from the other side, Duncan was relieved to find it open up. He was thrilled to see, in the distance, the rear gate of Andros, and the open plains and desert beyond it. Just beyond the gate stood dozens of Pandesian horses, tied up, clearly abandoned by their dead riders.
Motley grinned.
“I told you,” he said.
Duncan ran with the others, gaining speed, feeling returned to his old self again, feeling a whole new rush of hope – when suddenly, there came a cry that pierced his soul.
He stopped short, listening.
“Wait!” he called out to the others.
They all stopped and looked back at him as if he were mad.
Duncan stood there, waiting. Could it be? He could have sworn he had heard the voice of his daughter. Kyra. Was he hearing things?
Of course, he must have imagined it. How could she possibly be here, in Andros? She was far from here, across Escalon, in the Tower of Ur, safe and sound.
Yet he could not bring himself to leave after hearing it.
He stood there, frozen, waiting – and then, he heard it again. His hair stood on end. He was sure this time. It was Kyra.
“Kyra!” he said aloud, his eyes widening.
Without thinking, he turned his back on the others, turned his back on the exit, and ran back into the flaming city.
“Where are you going!?” Motley called out behind him.
“Kyra is here!” he called, still running. “And she’s in danger!”
“Are you mad?” Motley said, rushing up and grabbing his shoulder. “You run back to a certain death!”
But Duncan, determined, shoved Motley’s hand away and continued to run.
“A certain death,” he replied, “would be turning my back on the daughter I love.”
Duncan did not pause as he turned down an alleyway alone, sprinting back into death, into a city aflame. He knew it would mean his death. And he did not care. As long as he could see Kyra again.
Kyra, he thought. Wait for me.
Chapter Five
The Most Holy and Supreme Ra sat on his golden throne in the capital, in the midst of Andros, looked down on the chamber filled with his generals, slaves, and supplicants, and rubbed his palms into the throne’s arms, burning with dissatisfaction. He knew he should feel victorious, sated, after all he had achieved. After all, Escalon had been the last holdout of freedom in the world, the last place in his empire not completely under his subjugation, and in the last few days he had managed to lead his forces through one of his great routs of all time. He closed his eyes and smiled, relishing the image of running over the Southern Gate, unimpeded, of razing all the cities in southern Escalon, of blazing a trail north, all the way to the capital. He grinned as he reflected that this country, once so bountiful, was now a massive grave.
In the north, Escalon, he knew, fared no better. His fleets had managed to flood the great city of Ur, now but a memory. On the eastern coast, his fleets had taken the Sea of Tears and destroyed all the port cities along the coast, beginning with Esephus. Hardly an inch of Escalon lay out of his grasp.
Most of all, Escalon’s defiant commander, the rabble-rouser who had started all of this, Duncan, lay in a dungeon as Ra’s captive. Indeed, as Ra looked out and watched the sun rise through the window, he was giddy with excitement at the idea of personally walking Duncan to the gallows. He would personally pull the cord and watch him die. He smiled at the thought. Today would be a beautiful day.
Ra’s victory was complete on all fronts – and yet, still, he did not feel sated. Ra sat there and looked deep within himself, trying to understand this feeling of dissatisfaction. He had everything he wanted. What was nagging at him?
Ra had never felt sated, not in any of his campaigns, not his entire life. There had always been something burning in him, a desire for more, and more. Even now, he could feel it. What else could he do to fulfill his desires? he wondered. To make his victory truly feel complete?
Slowly, a plan came to him. He could murder every man, woman, and child left in Escalon. He could rape the women and torture the men first. He smiled wide. Yes, that would help. In fact, he could start right now.
Ra looked down at his advisors, hundreds of his best men, all kneeling before him, heads lowered, none daring to make eye contact. They all stared at the ground soundlessly, as they should. After all, they were lucky to be in the presence of a god such as himself.
Ra cleared his throat.
“Bring me the ten most beautiful women left in the land of Escalon at once,” he commanded, his deep voice booming across the chamber.
One of his servants bowed his head until it touched the marble floor.
“Yes, my lord!” he said, as he turned and ran off.
Yet as the servant reached the door it slammed open first, as another servant burst into the chamber, frantic, running right toward Ra’s throne. All the others in the room gasped, horrified by the affront. No one dared to ever enter a room, much less approach Ra, without a formal invitation. Doing so meant a certain death.
The servant threw himself face-first on the floor, and Ra glared down in disgust.
“Kill him,” he commanded.
Immediately, several of his soldiers rushed forward and grabbed the man. They dragged him away, flailing, and as they did, he cried: “Wait, my awesome Lord! I come bearing urgent news – news you must hear at once!”
Ra let the man be dragged away, not caring for the news. The man flailed the entire way, until finally as he reached the exit, the door about to close, he yelled:
“Duncan has escaped!”
Ra, feeling a jolt of shock, suddenly raised his right palm. His men stopped, holding the messenger at the door.
Scowling, Ra slowly processed the news. He stood and breathed deep. He descended the ivory steps, one at a time, his golden boots echoing, as he crossed the entire chamber. The room was silent, filled with tension, as he finally stopped right before the messenger. With every step he took, Ra could feel his fury rising within him.
“Tell me again,” Ra commanded, his voice dark and ominous.
The messenger shook.
“I am most sorry, my great and holy Supreme Lord,” he said with a shaking voice, “but Duncan has fled. Someone has broken him out of the dungeons. Our men are pursuing him through the capital even as we speak!”
Ra felt his face flush, felt the fire burning within him. He clenched his fists. He would not allow it. He would not allow himself to be robbed of his final piece of satisfaction.
“Thank you for bringing me this news,” Ra said.
Ra smiled, and for a moment the messenger looked relaxed, even began to smile back, puffing himself up with pride.
Ra did reward him. He stepped forward and slowly wrapped his hands around the man’s neck, then squeezed and squeezed. The man’s eyes bulged in his head and he reached up and grabbed Ra’s wrists – but was unable to pull them off. Ra knew he would not be able to. After all, he was just a man, and Ra was the great and holy Ra, the Man Who Was Once a God.
The man collapsed to the floor, dead. Yet it still gave Ra little satisfaction.
“Men!” Ra boomed.
His commanders snapped to attention and looked back with fear.
“Block every exit to the city! Dispatch every soldier we have to find this Duncan. And while you’re at it, kill every last man, woman, and child inside the city of Escalon. GO!”
“Yes, Supreme Lord!” the men replied, as one.
They all raced from the room, stumbling over each other, each rushing to do their master’s bidding faster than the others.
Ra turned, seething, and took a deep breath as he crossed the now empty chamber alone. He exited out to a broad balcony overlooking the city.
Ra stepped outside and felt the fresh air as he surveyed the chaotic city below. His soldiers, he was happy to see, occupied most of it. He wondered where Duncan could be. He admired him, he had to give him that; perhaps he even saw something of himself in him. Still, Duncan would learn what it meant to cross the great Ra. He would learn to accept death graciously. He would learn to submit, like the rest of the world.
Cries began to ring out, and Ra looked down and saw his men raising swords and spears and stabbing unsuspecting men and women and children in the back. Per his orders, the streets began to flow with blood. Ra sighed, contenting himself in this, and taking some satisfaction in it. All of these Escalonites would learn. It was the same everywhere he went, in every country he conquered. They would pay for their commander’s sins.
A sudden noise cut through the air, though, even above the cries below, startling Ra from his reverie. He could not understand what it was, or why it disturbed him so much. It was a low, deep rumble, something like thunder.
Just as he wondered if he had really heard it, it came again, louder, and he realized it was not coming from the ground – but from the sky.
Ra looked up, baffled, peering into the clouds, wondering. The sound came again, and again, and he knew it was not thunder. It was something much more ominous.
As he examined the rolling, gray clouds, Ra suddenly saw a sight that he would never forget. He blinked, certain he was imagining it. But no matter how many times he looked away, it was still there.
Dragons. An entire flock.
They descended for Escalon, talons extended, wings raised, breathing flames of fire. And flying right for him.
Before he could even process it, hundreds of his soldiers below were set aflame by the dragons’ breath, shrieking, caught in the columns of fire. Hundreds more groaned as the dragons tore them to shreds.
As he stood there, numb with panic, with disbelief, an enormous dragon singled him out. It aimed for his balcony, raised its talons, and dove.
A moment later, it sliced the stone in half, just missing him as he ducked. Ra, in a panic, felt the stone give way beneath his feet.
Moments later he felt himself falling, flailing, shrieking, down for the ground below. He had thought he was untouchable, greater than them all.
Yet death, after all, had found him.
Chapter Six
Kyle swung his staff with all he had, reeling from exhaustion as he struck both the Pandesian soldiers and the trolls closing in on him from all sides. He felled men and trolls left and right as their swords and halberds clanged off his staff, sparks flying everywhere. Even while defeating them, he could feel the ache, deep in his shoulders. He had been battling them for hours, he was surrounded on all sides now, and his situation, he knew, was dire.
At first the Pandesians and trolls had fought each other, leaving him free to fight whom he wished, yet as they saw Kyle felling everyone around him, they clearly realized it was in their best interest to team up against him. For a moment the Pandesians and trolls had stopped trying to kill each other, and instead all focused on killing him.
As Kyle swung and knocked back three trolls, a Pandesian managed to sneak behind him and slash Kyle’s stomach with his sword. Kyle shouted out and reeled from the pain, spinning to avoid the worst of it, yet still bleeding. Before he could parry, at the same time, a troll raised a club and smashed Kyle in the shoulder, knocking the staff from his hand and sending him to his hands and knees.
Kyle knelt there, the pain shooting up and down his shoulder, throbbing, as he tried to catch his breath. Before he could gather himself, yet another troll rushed forward and kicked him in the face, sending him flat on his back.
A Pandesian then stepped forward with a long spear, raised it high with both hands, and brought it down for Kyle’s head.
Kyle, not ready to die, spun out of the way, and the spear planted itself in the ground just inches from his face. He continued to roll, gained his feet, and as two more trolls charged, he grabbed a sword from the ground, spun, and stabbed them both.
As several others crowded in, Kyle quickly grabbed his staff and knocked them all out, fighting like a cornered animal as he formed a circle around him. He stood there, breathing heavily, blood pouring from his lip, while his opponents formed a thick circle around him, all closing in, blood in their eyes.
The pain in his stomach and shoulder unbearable, Kyle tried to block it out, tried to focus as he stood there. He faced an imminent death, he knew, and he took solace only in the fact that he had rescued Kyra. That had made it all worth it, and he was willing to pay the price.
He glanced at the horizon, and took solace in the fact that she had gotten away from all this, had ridden away on the back of Andor. He wondered if she was safe, and prayed that she was.
Kyle had fought brilliantly, for hours, one man up against both these armies, and had killed thousands of them. Yet now, he knew, he was too weak to go on. There were just too many of them, and their numbers never seemed to end. He had found himself in the middle of a war, the trolls flooding the land from the north while the Pandesians streamed up from the South, and he could no longer fight them both.
Kyle felt a sudden pain in his ribs as a troll rushed him from behind and jabbed him in the back with the shaft of his ax. Kyle swung around with his staff, slashing the troll in the throat, dropping him – but at the same time two Pandesian soldiers rushed forward and smashed him with their shields. The pain in his head overwhelming, Kyle dropped down to the ground, this time, he knew, for good. He was too weak to rise again.
Kyle closed his eyes and there flashed through his mind images of his life. He saw all the Watchers, people he had served with for centuries, saw all the people he had known and loved. Most of all, he saw Kyra’s face. The only thing he regretted was that he would not see her again before he died.
Kyle looked up as three hideous trolls stepped forward, raising their halberds. He knew this was it.
As they began to lower them, everything came into focus. He was able to hear the sound of the wind; to really smell the crisp, cool air. For the first time in centuries, he felt truly alive. He wondered why he had never been able to truly appreciate life until he was almost dead.
As Kyle closed eyes and braced himself for death’s embrace, suddenly a roar pierced the sky. It snapped him from his reverie. He blinked and glanced up to see something emerge through the clouds. At first Kyle thought it was angels, coming to take away his dead body.
But then he saw that the trolls above him were frozen in confusion themselves, all searching the sky – and Kyle knew it was real. It was something else.
And then, as he caught a glimpse of what it was, his heart stopped.
Dragons.
A flock of dragons circled, diving down in fury, breathing fire. They descended rapidly, talons extended, letting loose their flame and, without warning, killing hundreds of soldiers and trolls at once. A wave of fire rolled down, spreading, and within seconds, the trolls standing over Kyle were all burnt to a crisp. Kyle, seeing the flames coming, grabbed a huge copper shield beside him and took shelter behind it, curling up in a ball. The heat was intense as the flames rolled off it, nearly burning his hands, yet he held on. The dead trolls and soldiers landed on top of him, their armor further shielding him as yet another wave of flame came, this one more powerful. Ironically, these trolls and Pandesians were now saving him from death.
He held on, sweating, barely able to stand the heat as the dragons dove again and again. Unable to stand it any longer, he passed out, praying with all he was that he was not burned alive.
Chapter Seven
Vesuvius stood at the edge of the cliff, beside the Tower of Kos, staring down at the crashing waves of the Sorrow, the steam still rising from where the Sword of Fire had sunk – and he grinned wide. He had done it. The Sword of Flames was no more. He had robbed the Tower of Kos, had robbed Escalon, of its most precious artifact. He had, once and for all time, lowered the Flames.
Vesuvius beamed, giddy with excitement. His palm still throbbed from where he had grabbed the burning Sword of Flames, and he looked down and saw the insignia branded in it. He ran his finger along his fresh scars, knowing they would stay there forever, a mark of his success. The pain was blinding, yet he forced it from his mind, forced it not to bother him. In fact, he taught himself to enjoy the pain.