Morgan Rice: Rise of the Dragons

Merk turned around, able to see the horizon in every direction, and in the far distance, against the setting sun, he saw black smoke rising. It was like a punch in the gut. He knew where it was coming from: that girl. Her family. The murderers were setting fire to everything.

As he followed the trail of smoke he they had not reached her farm yet. They were still on the outskirts of her fields. Soon enough, they would reach it. But for now, for these last precious minutes, she was safe.

Merk cracked his neck, as he was prone to do when torn by an inner conflict. He stood there, shifting in place, filled with a great sense of unease, unable to go forward. He turned and looked back at the Tower of Ur, the destination of his dreams, and he knew he should forge ahead. He had arrived, and he wanted to relax, to celebrate.

But for the first time in his life, a desire welled up within him. It was a desire to act selflessly, a desire to act purely for justice’s sake. For no fee and no reward. Merk hated the feeling.

Merk leaned back and shouted, at war with himself, with the world. Why? Why now, of all times?

And then, despite every ounce of common sense he had, he found himself turning away from the Tower, towards the farm. First it was a walk, then a jog – then a sprint.

As he ran, something deep within him was being set free. The Tower could wait. It was time for Merk to do right in the world. It was time for these murderers to meet their match.

Kyra sat against the cold stone wall, her eyes bloodshot as she watched the first rays of dawn seep through the iron bars, cover the room in a pale light. She had been awake all night, as the Lord Governor had predicted, turning over in her mind the horrific punishment to come. She pondered what they had done to Dierdre, and tried not to think of the ways these cruel men would try to break her.

Kyra turned over in her mind a thousand schemes to resist, to escape. The warrior spirit in her refused to break – she would rather die first. Yet, as she mulled all possible ways of defiance, of escape, she kept returning to a feeling of hopelessness and despair. This place was more well-guarded than any place she had ever been. She was in the midst of the Lord Governor’s fort, a Pandesian stronghold, a massive military complex holding thousands of soldiers. She was far from Volis, and even if somehow she managed to escape, she knew she would never make it back before they hunted her down and killed her. Assuming Volis still stood for her to return to. Worse, her father had no idea where she was, and he never would. She was utterly alone in the universe.

“No sleep?” came a soft voice, shattering her reverie.

Kyra looked over to see Dierdre sitting against the far wall, her face illuminated with the first light of dawn, she looking too pale, dark circles under her eyes. She appeared utterly dejected, and she stared back at Kyra with haunted eyes.

“I didn’t sleep either,” Dierdre continued. “I was thinking all night of what they will do to you – the same they’ve done to me. But for some reason it hurts me worse to think of them doing it to you than me. I’m already broken; there’s nothing left of my life. But you’re still perfect.”

Kyra felt a deepening sense of dread as she contemplated her words. She could not imagine the horrors her newfound friend had gone through, and seeing her this way just made her more determined to fight back.

“There must be another way,” Kyra said.

Dierdre shook her head.

“There is nothing here but a miserable existence of life. And then death.”

There came the sudden sound of a door slamming across the dungeon hall, and Kyra stood, prepared to face whatever came at her, prepared to fight to the death if need be. Dierdre suddenly jumped to her feet and ran over to her, grabbing her elbow.

“Promise me one thing,” Dierdre insisted.

Kyra saw the desperation in her eyes, and she nodded back.

“Before they take you,” she said, “kill me. Strangle me if you have to. Do not let me live like this anymore. Please. I beg you.”

As Kyra stared back, she felt a sense of resolve bubbling up within her. She shook off her self-pity, all of her doubts. She knew, in that moment, that she had to live. If not for herself, then for Dierdre. No matter how bleak life seemed, she knew she could not give up.

The soldiers approached, their boots echoing, their keys clanging, and Kyra, knowing there remained little time, turned and grabbed Dierdre’s shoulders with a firm grip as she looked her in the eye.

“Listen to me,” Kyra implored. “You are going to live. Do you understand me? Not only are you going to live, but you are going to escape with me. You are going to start your life over – and it is going to be a beautiful life. We will wreak vengeance on all the scum that did this to you – together. Do you hear me?”

Dierdre stared back, wavering.

“I need you to be strong,” Kyra insisted, speaking also to herself, she realized. “Living is not for the weak. Dying, giving up, is for the weak – living is for the strong. Do you want to be weak and die? Or do you wish to be strong and live?”

Kyra kept staring at her intensely as light flooded the cell from the torches and soldiers came marching in – and finally, she thought she could see something shift in Dierdre’s eyes. It was like a tiny glimmer of hope, and it was followed by a tiny nod of affirmation.

There came a clanging of keys, the cell door opening and she turned to see the soldiers approach. Rough, callused hands grab her wrists, and Kyra was yanked out of the cell, as the cell door slammed behind her. She let herself go slack. She had to conserve her energy. Now was not the time to fight back. She had to catch them off guard, to find the perfect moment. Even a powerful enemy, she knew, always had one moment of vulnerability.

Two soldiers held her in place, and through the iron door there appeared a man whom Kyra dimly recognized: the governor’s son.

Kyra blinked, confused.

“My father sent me to get you,” he said as he approached, “but I am going to have you first. He won’t be pleased when he finds out, of course – but then again, what’s he to do when it is too late?”

The son’s face contorted in a cool, evil smile.

Kyra felt a cold dread as she stared back at this sick man, who licked his lips and examined her as if she were an object.

“You see,” he said, taking a step forward, beginning to take off his fur coat, his breath visible in the cold cell, “my father need not know all the goings-on of this fort. Sometimes I like to have first dibs on whatever passes through – and you, my dear, are a fine specimen. I’m going to have fun with you. Then I will torture you. I will keep you alive, though, so that I have something left to bring to him.”

He grinned, getting so close she could smell his foul breath.

“You and I, my dear, are going to become very familiar.”

The son nodded to his two guards, and she was surprised as they released their grip and backed off, each retreating to a side of the room to give him space.

She stood there, hands free, and furtively glanced across the room, summing up her odds. There were the two guards, each armed with a long sword, and the son himself, far taller and broader than she. She would be unable to overpower them all, even if armed, which she was not.

She noticed in the far corner, leaning against the wall, her weapons – her bow and staff, her quiver of arrows – and her heart beat faster. What she wouldn’t give to have them now.

“Ahh,” the son said, smiling. “You look for your weapons. You still think you can survive this. I see the defiance in you. Don’t worry, I will break that soon enough.”