Morgan Rice - De Tappras Uppkomst

There came a great shout amongst his men, and Duncan turned to see all of his men cheering as they watched the ships burn, their faces black with soot, exhaustion from having ridden through the night—yet all of them drunk with victory. It was a cry of relief. A cry of freedom. A cry they had been waiting years to release.

Yet no sooner had it sounded when another shout filled the air—this one much more ominous—followed by a sound which made the hair rise on Duncan’s neck. He turned and his heart dropped to see the great gates to the stone barracks slowly opening. As they did, there appeared a frightening sight: thousands of Pandesian soldiers, fully armed, in perfect ranks; a professional army, outnumbering his men ten to one, was preparing. And as the gates opened, they let out a cry and charged right for them.

The beast had been roused. Now, the real war would begin.

Kyra, clutching Andor’s mane, galloped through the night, Deidre beside her, Leo at her feet, all racing through the snow-filled plains west of Argos like thieves fleeing through the night. As she rode, hour passing hour, the sound of the horses thumping in her ears, Kyra became lost in her own world. She imagined what might lie ahead of her in the Tower of Ur, who her uncle might be, what he would say about her, about her mother, and she could barely contain her excitement. Yet she also had to admit, she felt fear. It would be a long trek to cross Escalon, one she had never done before. And looming ahead of them, she saw, was the Wood of Thorns. The open plains were coming to an end, and they would soon be immersed in a claustrophobic wood filled with savage beasts. She knew all rules were off once they crossed that tree line.

The snow whipped her face as the wind howled across the open plains, and Kyra, her hands numb, dropped the torch from her hand, realizing it had burned dead long ago. She rode through the dark, lost in her own thoughts, the only sound that of the horses, of the snow beneath them, and of Andor’s occasional snarl. She could feel his rage, his untamed nature, unlike any beast she had ever ridden. It was as if Andor was not only unafraid of what lay ahead—but openly hoping for a confrontation.

Wrapped in her furs, Kyra felt another wave of hunger pains, and as she heard Leo whine yet again, she knew they could not all ignore their hunger much longer. They had been riding for hours and had already devoured their frozen strips of meat; she realized, too late, that they had not brought enough provisions. No small game surfaced on this snowy night, and it did not bode well. They would have to stop and find food soon.

They slowed as they neared the edge of the Wood, Leo snarling at the dark tree line. Kyra glanced back over her shoulder, at the rolling plains leading back to Argos, at the last open sky she would see for a while. She turned back and stared at the wood, and a part of her was loath to move ahead. She knew the reputation of the Wood of Thorns, and this, she knew, was a moment of no turning back.

“You ready?” she asked Dierdre.

Dierdre appeared to be a different girl now than the one who had left prison. She was stronger, more resolute, as if she had been to the depths of hell and back and was ready to face anything.

“The worst that can happen has already happened to me,” Deidre said, her voice cold and hard as the wood before them, a voice too old for her age.

Kyra nodded, understanding—and together, they set off, entering the tree line.

The moment they did, Kyra immediately felt a chill, even in this cold night. It was darker here, more claustrophobic, filled with ancient black trees with gnarled branches resembling thorns, and thick, black leaves. The wood exuded not a sense of peace, but one of evil.

They proceeded at a quick walk, as fast as they could amidst these trees, snow and ice crunching beneath their beasts. There slowly arose the sounds of odd creatures, hidden in the branches. She turned and scanned them searching for the source, but could find none. She felt they were being watched.

They proceeded deeper and deeper into the wood, Kyra trying to head west and north, as her father had told her, until she found the sea. As they went, Leo and Andor snarled at hidden creatures Kyra could not see, while she dodged the branches scratching her. Kyra pondered the long road ahead of her. She was excited at the idea of her quest, yet she longed to be with her people, to be fighting at their side in the war she had started. She already felt an urgency to return.

As hour followed hour, Kyra peered into the wood, wondering how much further until they reached the sea. She knew it was risky to ride in such darkness—yet she knew it was also risky to camp out here alone—especially as she heard another startling noise.

“Where is the sea?” Kyra finally asked Dierdre, mainly to break the silence.

She could tell from Dierdre’s expression that she had stirred her from her thoughts; she could only imagine what nightmares she was lost in.

Dierdre shook her head.

“I wish I knew,” she replied, her voice parched.

Kyra was confused.

“Didn’t you come this way when they took you?” she asked.

Dierdre shrugged.

“I was locked in a cage in the back of the wagon,” she replied, “and unconscious most of the trip. They could have taken me any direction. I don’t know this wood.”

She sighed, peering out into the blackness.

“But as we near Whitewood, I should recognize more.”

They continued on, falling into a comfortable silence, and Kyra could not help but wonder about Deidre and her past. She could feel her strength, yet also her profound sadness. Kyra found herself getting consumed by dark thoughts of the journey ahead, of their lack of food, of the biting cold and the savage creatures awaiting them, and she turned to Dierdre, wanting to distract herself.

“Tell me of the Tower of Ur,” Kyra said. “What’s it like?”

Dierdre looked back, black circles beneath her eyes, and shrugged.

“I’ve never been to the tower,” Dierdre replied. “I am from the city of Ur—and that is a good day’s ride south.”

“Then tell me of your city,” Kyra said, wanting to think of anything but here.

Dierdre’s eyes lit up.

“Ur is a beautiful place,” she said, longing in her voice. “The city by the sea.”

“We have a city south of us that is near the sea,” Kyra said. “Esephus. It is a day’s ride from Volis. I used to go there, with my father, when I was young.”

Dierdre shook her head.

“That is not a sea,” she replied.

Kyra was confused.

“What do you mean?”

“That is the Sea of Tears,” Dierdre replied. “Ur is on the Sea of Sorrow. Our is a much more expansive sea. On your eastern shore, there are small tides; on our western coast, the Sorrow has waves twenty feet high that crash into our shores, and a tide that can pull out ships in a glance, much less men, when the moon is high. Ours is the only city in all of Escalon where the cliffs lower enough to allow ships to touch to shore. Our has the only beach in all of Escalon. It is why Andros was built but a day’s ride east of us.”

Kyra pondered her words, glad to be distracted. She recalled all of this from some lesson in her youth, but she had never pondered it all in detail.

“And your people?” Kyra asked. “What are they like?”

Dierdre sighed.

“A proud people,” she replied, “like any other in Escalon. But different, too. They say those of Ur have one eye on Escalon and one on the sea. We look to the horizon. We are less provincial than the others—perhaps because so many foreigners touch down on our shores. The men of Ur were once famed warriors, my father foremost amongst them. Now, we are subjects, like everyone else.”