Morgan Rice: A Realm of Shadows

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.

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.