Morgan Rice: Rise of the Dragons

The giant, enraged, charged in after it, never even slowing. As it reached the troll it swiped for him with its massive fists and claws. The troll ducked and the giant instead smashed into rock. The ground shook, a great rumble followed, and Vesuvius watched in awe as the wall crumbled, as an avalanche of rocks came pouring out in a massive cloud of dust.

Vesuvius’ heart quickened. That was it. It was exactly what he had always dreamt, exactly what he needed, what he had envisioned from the day he set out to find this beast. It swiped again, and smashed out another chunk of rock, taking out a good fifty feet in a single swipe – more than Vesuvius’s slaves had been able to do in an entire year of digging.

Vesuvius was overjoyed, realizing it could work.

But then the giant found the troll, grabbed it, lifted it into the air, and bit off its head.

“CLOSE THE TUNNEL!” Vesuvius commanded, rushing forward and directing his soldiers.

Hundreds of trolls, waiting on standby, rushed forward and began pushing the slab of Altusian rock that Vesuvius had positioned before the entrance to the tunnel, a rock so thick that no beast, not even this creature, could break it. The sound of stone scraping stone filled the air as Vesuvius watched the tunnel slowly seal up.

The giant, seeing the entrance being closed, turned and charged for it.

But the entrance sealed a moment before the giant reached it. The entire cave as it slammed into it – but luckily the stone held.

Vesuvius smiled; the giant was trapped. He was right where he wanted him.

“Send the next one in!” Vesuvius ordered.

A human slave was kicked forward, lashed by his captors, again and again, toward a tiny opening in the stone slab. The human, realizing what was about to happen, refused to go, kicking and struggling; but they beat him savagely, until finally they were able to run him through the opening, giving him one last shove through.

From inside there came the muffled shouts of the slave, clearly running for his life, trying to get away from the giant. Vesuvius stood there and listened with glee as he heard the sound of the enraged giant, trapped, swatting and smashing at rock, digging his tunnel for him.

One swipe at a time, his tunnel was being dug – each swipe, he knew, bringing him closer to The Flames, to Escalon. He would turn the humans into a nation of slaves.

Finally, victory would be his.

Kyra opened her eyes to blackness, lying on a cold stone floor, her head splitting, her body aching, and wondered where she was. Shivering from the cold, her throat parched, feeling as if she hadn’t eaten in days, she reached out and felt the cobblestone floor beneath her fingers, and she tried to remember.

Images flooded her mind, and she was unsure at first if they were memories or nightmares. She recalled being captured by the Lord’s Men, thrown into a cart, a metal gate slamming on her. She remembered a long, bumpy ride, remembered resisting as the gate opened, struggling to break free and being clubbed on the head. After that, all had, mercifully, been blackness.

Kyra reached up and felt the lump on the back of her head and she knew it had not been a dream. It had all been real. The reality sunk in like a stone: she had been captured by the Lord’s Men, carted off, and imprisoned.

Kyra was furious at Maltren for his betrayal, furious at herself for being so stupid as to have believed him. She was also scared, pondering what would come next. Here she lay, alone, in the Governor’s custody, and only terrible things could be coming for her. She felt sure that her father and her people had no idea where she was. Perhaps her father would assume she had heeded him and ventured to the Tower of Ur. Maltren would surely lie and report back that he had seen her fleeing Volis for good.

As Kyra scrambled in the dark, she instinctively reached for her bow, her staff – but they had all been stripped. She looked up and saw a dim glow coming through the cell bars, and she sat up and saw torches lining the stone walls of a dungeon, beneath which stood several soldiers, at attention. There sat a large iron door in the center of it, and it was silent down here, the only sound that of a dripping coming from somewhere in the ceiling, and of rats scurrying in some dark corner.

Kyra sat up against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to get warm. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, forcing herself to imagine herself someplace else, anywhere. As she did, she saw Theos’ intense yellow eyes staring back at her. She could hear the dragon’s voice in her mind’s eye.

Strength is not defined in times of peace. It is defined in hardship. Embrace your hardship, do not shy from it. Only then can you overcome it.

Kyra opened her eyes, shocked at the vision, looking around and expecting to see Theos in front of her.

“Did you see him?” a girl’s voice suddenly cut through the darkness, making Kyra jump.

Kyra wheeled, stunned to hear the voice of another person here in this cell with her, coming from somewhere in the shadows – and even more stunned to hear it was a girl’s voice. She sounded about her age, and as a figure emerged from the shadows, Kyra saw she was right: there sat a pretty girl, perhaps fifteen, with brown hair and eyes, long tangled hair, face covered in dirt, clothes in tatters. She looked terrified as she stared back at Kyra.

“Who are you?” Kyra asked.

“Have you seen him?” the girl repeated, urgently.

“Seen who?”

“His son,” she replied.

“His son?” Kyra asked, confused.

The girl turned and looked outside the cell, terror-stricken, and Kyra wondered what horrors she had seen.

“I haven’t seen anyone,” Kyra said.

“Oh God, please don’t let them kill me,” the girl pleaded. “Please. I hate this place!”

The girl began to weep uncontrollably, curled up on the stone floor, and Kyra, her heart breaking for her, got up, went over and draped an arm around her shoulder, trying to soothe her.

“Shhh,” Kyra said, trying to calm her. Kyra had never seen anyone in such a broken state; this girl looked positively terrified about whoever it was she was talking about. It gave Kyra a sinking feeling for what was to come.

“Tell me,” Kyra said. “Who are you talking about? Who hurt you? The Governor? Who are you? What are you doing here?”

She saw the bruises on the girl’s face, the scars on her shoulders, and she tried not to think of what they had done to this poor girl. She waited patiently for her to stop weeping.

“My name is Dierdre,” she said. “I’ve been here…I don’t know. I thought it was a moon cycle, but I have lost track of time. They took me from my family, ever since the new law. I tried to resist, and they took me here.”

Dierdre stared into space as if reliving it all again.

“Every day there await new tortures for me,” she continued. “First it was the son, then the father. They pass me off like a doll and now…I am… nothing.”

She stared back at Kyra with an intensity that scared her.

“I just want to die now,” Dierdre pleaded. “Please, just help me die.”

Kyra looked back, horrified.

“Don’t say that,” Kyra said.

“I tried to take a knife the other day to kill myself – but it slipped from my hands and they captured me again. Please. I’ll give you anything. Kill me.”

Kyra shook her head, aghast.

“Listen to me,” Kyra said, feeling a new inner strength rise up within her, a new determination as she saw Dierdre’s plight. It was the strength of her father, the strength of generations of warriors, coursing through her. And more than that: it was the strength of the dragon. A strength she did not know she had until this day.