Morgan Rice - A Realm of Shadows

He turned to her, his eyes aglow.

“They are your people, Kyra. Your blood. It runs through you, this blood of valor. Armis the Great: a man who killed a dozen men with a single pull of a bow. Arcard the Strong: a man who fought off a legion of soldiers with a single sword. Aseries the Lone: a man who fought alone, refused to stand with an army, and killed more men on his own than entire villages together.”

He turned to her.

“These are you , Kyra. You are not separate from them. You are one and the same. Your ancestors’ blood courses through you, and they all watch over you. They all depend on you now. You are all they have left.”

He stepped forward and grasped her shoulders with a surprising strength.

“Don’t you see, Kyra? You are all they have left.”

He stared into her eyes, a glimmer of his old intensity shining through, like a candle on its last flame.

“What will you do, Kyra? Will you make them proud?”

She nodded back gravely.

“Yes,” she said, meaning it. “I will.”

“Even if it means risking your life?”

“Yes,” she replied. “With all that I am.”

She felt her words were true, and as she spoke them, she felt a vibration run through her palms, as if the spirits lingering in the room had heard her and had approved.

Softis stared at her for a long time, as if gauging the truth of what she said, and finally he nodded in approval.

“Good,” he said.

He sighed and withdrew his hand, yet still he studied her.

“Of all the great men,” he added, “who had ever fought for Volis, of all the warriors they thought would be the standard bearer, the greatest of them all was you , Kyra.”

Kyra stared back, shocked.

“Me?” she asked.

He nodded.

“That was what they could not have seen,” he replied. “All along, for all these generations, it was you they were waiting for. You , a simple girl, who is far more than that.”

Kyra’s hands trembled as she pondered the weight of his words.

“Do not shy from danger, Kyra,” he urged. “Seek it out. That is the only way to save your life.”

Kyle opened his eyes, disoriented, wondering where he was. He reached out and felt cold grass and dirt between his fingers, felt a heavy weight atop him, nearly suffocating him. He also felt something curious licking his palm, nudging him awake.

Kyle leaned back and shoved off the armor. Breathing hard from the effort, free of the weight, Kyle looked about and was horrified at what he saw. He was surrounded by dead bodies. He lay in a field of corpses – thousands of them – Pandesian soldiers and trolls mingled together, all charred, faces frozen in death masks of agony. The land, too, was scorched around them, burned by the dragons’ breath, and as Kyle pushed the last of the shields and heavy armor off of him, he realized at once that the only reason he had survived was because of the metal and corpses shielding him.

He continued to feel the tongue on his palm, and Kyle, remembering, looked over and was shocked at who he saw: Leo. Kyra’s wolf. Somehow it had sought him out, had found him, had crossed Escalon searching for him, and had nudged him awake. Of course, it made sense: Leo was fanatically devoted to Kyra, and he must have sensed that Kyle could lead him to her. That also, though, meant something else: Kyra and Leo had gotten separated. Kyle’s heart fell, as he wondered what may have happened to her.

Kyle heard a snort, a clawing at the grass, and he turned to see Kyra’s horse, Andor, standing nearby, waiting impatiently, too. Kyle marveled at the loyalty of her animals.

Kyle rubbed Leo’s head as he sat up, his head aching, wondering how much time had passed. He was singed, aching, scratched and wounded on nearly every part of his body. Yet he was alive. He was the lone man here, in this battlefield of the dead, now a massive cemetery.

There came a distant rumble, and Kyle looked up, bracing himself as he examined the sky. On the horizon he spotted the faint remnants of the flock of dragons, flying away, presumably south, for Andros. They must have assumed everyone was dead.

Kyle stood, knowing he was lucky to be alive, shocked the dragons had reached Escalon. He closed his eyes, as he did when summoning his powers, and tried to use them to show him where to go, what his purpose was now. Kyra was somewhere, he did not know where, far away, Escalon was in ruin, and the Tower of Ur was destroyed. What purpose did life hold for him?

Kyle closed his eyes and focused, and as he did, a driving sense of purpose came to him. It commanded him to look up, to search the skies. Kyle did so, and he suddenly saw something fly overhead, just a flash, racing by, in and out of the clouds. A dragon. Yet it flew in the opposite direction of the flock. It was unlike the others. It was a baby. And it flew alone.

And on its back, Kyle felt a chill to realize, was someone he knew. Someone he loved.

Kyra.

Kyle was overcome as he watched the dragon disappear on the horizon. Kyra was flying north. But where? Why? At least that explained why she and Leo and Andor became separated.

Kyle closed his eyes and tuned in, summoning his powers, wondering. None of it seemed to make any sense.

And then it came to him.

Marda .

A chill ran up his arms as he saw Kyra’s future. He saw her enveloped by blackness, saw the evil awaiting her, the death surrounding her. He saw, most of all, that she would never return.

Flooded by a new sense of purpose, Kyle broke into a sprint, running north through the fields, faster and faster. Leo and Andor ran by his side, joining him, yet he was even faster than they. He was as fast as a bird, as fast as a dragon, covering so much ground so fast, that soon, he would reach the Flames. He would enter the land of Marda, do whatever it took to find and saved the girl he loved.

Wait, Kyra , he urged. Wait for me.

Aidan stood in the cave amongst all his father’s soldiers, his father in the center, hundreds of men crowding him in a semicircle, all intently looking at their commander with love and respect – and Aidan felt a rush of pride. Beside him stood Anvin and Motley and Cassandra, White at his feet, and Aidan was elated to be here, to be included amongst all these great men, and most of all, to be reunited with his father again. No matter what should happen, for now at least, all was right in the world again.

It was a jubilant scene, all these warriors clearly happy to be reunited, all embracing and talking, discussing their predicament as they had for hours, ever since Kyra had dropped them here in this remote cave. They all knew the situation was dire. They needed an urgent plan, and they debated a course of action heatedly, all professional warriors, all with varying opinions. His father stood in the middle of it all, listening, judging, weighing their opinions.

“We must return and storm the capital!” Bramthos exclaimed to a group of men. “We must attack while they are distracted, while the dragons attack them. We can exploit their weakness.”

“And what of the dragons?” Kavos called out. “Shall they not kill us, too?”

“We can attack them fast, and then take shelter,” Bramthos countered.

The others shook their heads.

“Reckless,” Seavig replied. “More of us will die by the dragons’ breath than by the Pandesians’ sword.”

“Then what would you have us do? Remain here, hiding in this cave?” Arthfael countered.

Kavos shook his head.

“No,” Kavos replied. “Yet we cannot return to Andros. Nor can we risk confronting them head on.”