Morgan Rice - Night of the Bold

Kyra dove lower, gripping Theon around his neck with one hand and the staff with the other, and she could feel the rage pulsing through him, too.

“This is our time, Theon,” she whispered, feeling at one with her dragon. “This is the day we were both born for.”

He roared in response and flew faster, needing no urging. He dove lower, opened his jaws, and as the first legion of soldiers entered their sights, he roared a column of fire.

A huge wave of fire rolled down, spreading out below, Kyra able to feel the heat even from here. The Pandesian soldiers looked up in terror, as if watching a nightmare descend from the skies. They turned to flee – but it was too late. They were all stuck in the fishbowl below, hundreds of thousands of their fellow soldiers blocking their escape.

Theon’s flames engulfed them, and a chorus of shrieks arose as a great fire roared through the crowd. It wiped out hundreds of men at a time, stumbling, collapsing to their knees, turning to ash. Kyra felt a deep satisfaction with each death.

“LOWER!” she urged.

They flew even lower, until they were but feet from the flames, Kyra seeing all the detail up close. She wanted to get closer and closer to the fire, to feel its heat, to feel firsthand the vengeance she was giving her father. She came so close that the heat hurt her face, and yet still she would not pull up. Hardly ten feet above their heads, she watched as men, on fire, were shrieking, collapsing, some trying to hurl spears up at the dragon, but being killed before they could even let go.

Horns sounded, and Kyra looked out and saw, in the distance, columns of soldiers rallying, preparing to make a stand against her. Horns sounded again and again as thousands of men on horses, on elephants, in chariots, on foot, charged to meet her and Theon.

Kyra lowered her head, welcoming the challenge.

“FASTER, THEON!”

They flew so fast she could hardly breathe, closing in on the bulk of the army, and as they did, the soldiers below, prepared, hurled spears, fired arrows, sent up an army of weaponry into the skies, all intent on killing her and Theon.

Kyra did not flinch. Instead, she raised the Staff of Truth and, as she felt it vibrating in her hand, slashed it downwards.

A column of black light descended, and as it went, it knocked the spears and arrows out of the skies.

A creaking noise cut through the air and Kyra looked down to see several catapults being rolled forward. Ropes were cut, and a moment later, boulders were soaring through the air, right for her. Just one of these boulders, she knew, could fell Theon.

Kyra held out the staff before her, and she felt an intense power as light shot down from it. The light hit the rocks mid-air and smashed them to pieces, raining down chunks of rock on all the soldiers, and knocking them unconscious by the dozens.

Kyra heard a rallying cry behind her, and she glanced back to see Anvin leading the men, hunting down the Pandesians that fled in every direction. She soared with pride as she watched the men on horseback raise swords and shields, and fell rows of Pandesian soldiers – those foolish enough to turn around and make a stand. Anvin and the others fought like men possessed, all clearly on a mission to avenge her father. They threw themselves fearlessly into the enemy and hacked them down, carving out a path right down the middle of the Pandesian forces.

Their efforts distracted the Pandesians and helped Kyra stay on track as she dove again and again, criss-crossing, sending columns of flame down across the army. All the while, though, she was hunting single-mindedly for one man.

Ra.

Kyra scoured the ranks as she flew, desperate to find his golden chariot. She had a debt to settle. Her father’s blood demanded it.

Kyra flew farther and farther south, taking out legions of soldiers as Theon breathed fire. She was determined to clear a path all the way to the Bridge of Sorrows, to the very end of the land of Escalon, and to kill every last one. When she was done, she would circle back and kill whoever remained. She would attack as long as she needed to until her land was finally free again.

Kyra cut a wide swath through the army, the flames rippling down, shouts filling the air, knowing she had to reach the Bridge of Sorrows before Ra could escape. She could not leave him alive to regroup, to fight another day. If he crossed that bridge, he could rally millions more soldiers from greater Pandesia, and Escalon could be invaded once again, an endless flood invading her homeland forever. She would have to, she realized, take out the Bridge of Sorrows altogether. There was no other way. She could not leave her homeland open to be invaded once again.

Kyra flew and flew, Theos burning fire all the while, the flames roaring below, sending up clouds of smoke, until finally her heart beat faster as she spotted it in the distance: the Bridge of Sorrows. There it sat, shining in the sun, an ancient and iconic piece of architecture, crowned by the Southern Gate, built by her ancestors, rising hundreds of feet above the ocean, spanning the two continents, connecting Escalon to the mainland of Pandesia. Kyra could even see beyond it, all the way to the black Fields of Ore gleaming on the opposite side, the northernmost tip of the massive landmass of the Pandesian Empire, stretching beyond it to the end of the world.

Kyra was confused as she saw tens of thousands of Pandesian soldiers gathering before the gate. It was as if they did not want to cross – but rather to make a stand. As if they were waiting for something. And then, her heart pounded as she saw the man she had been looking for. There stood Ra, alone on the bridge, awaiting her.

Only his sorcerer, Magon, stood beside him, while assembled before him, on the mainland, were Pandesia’s elite legions.

“DOWN, THEON!”

As Kyra neared, she felt sure she was flying into a trap. Yet she would not back down for anything. On the contrary: she was determined to dismount, and to face Ra on foot, and to kill him by hand.

As she neared, close enough to see their faces, Magon raised his dark scarlet staff toward the sky. A moment later, Kyra felt a burning in her palm, and she looked down and was dismayed to watch the Staff of Truth losing its glow. Magon was somehow neutralizing its power.

At the same moment, Theon’s flames suddenly stopped, as if slamming into an invisible wall in the air, before the bridge. She saw Magon raising his arms, eyes closed, and realized he was casting some sort of spell to take away both of their powers. As if he were summoning something.

And then it came: a roar. Not just a roar, but the loudest sound she had ever heard, rumbling through the skies, piercing her ears. Kyra looked up, and saw the most frightening thing she had ever seen. Four creatures, resembling dragons but ten times the size, flew toward her. Their scales were black, their eyes, as large as she, black, too, with glowing yellow slits. Their bodies were lumpy, misshapen, and long yellow talons hung down from their feet. They came from the four corners of the sky, all converging for her. They were creatures summoned from hell.

Kyra was proud that Theon did not shrink in fear; even without his flames, he was enraged, and lunged forward to meet them in battle. These creatures, though, were too fast; barely had she spotted them when they were already upon her, reaching out with their talons for her, converging all at once.

Kyra swung the Staff of Truth – yet this time, stripped of its power, it did no good. Within moments the creatures were all on Theon, tearing at him in four directions. Kyra struggled to hold on as his body rocked wildly, Theon fighting viciously. As small as he was, he refused to go down without a fight. He snapped at their throats, slashed at their eyes. But their scales were like armor, and he hardly made a scratch.