by Morgan Rice
A long silence followed. Finally, Duncan looked up and stared back, defiant.
Ra stood there, waiting impatiently. He craved deference from the last surviving man who had dared show him defiance. Having Duncan bow down to him would be like having Escalon bow to him, would show Ra that there was not a soul left in this land who dared defy him.
Yet, to his fury, Duncan did not bow.
Finally, Duncan cleared his throat.
“I bow to no one,” Duncan said, his voice weak. “No man and no god. And you certainly are no god. Wait for me to bow to you, and you shall be waiting a very long time.”
Ra reddened. He had never faced such impunity.
“Are you prepared to meet your death?” Ra asked.
Duncan stared back, unflappable.
“I have faced death many times,” he replied. “It is a familiar friend. All whom I love are dead. It would come to me now as a welcome relief.”
Ra saw the spark in this man’s eyes, and he sensed his words were true. He heard the authority in his voice, the authority of a man who had commanded men, and it made him respect him even more.
Ra cleared his throat and sighed.
“I came down here,” he replied, “to see the face of my enemy. To let you know firsthand what I have done to your once-great country. It is all in my hands now. All subjugated. Every last village and city. Your daughter, Kyra, is being hunted down now and will be ours soon. I will take great joy and pride in having her as my personal slave.”
Ra smiled wide as he could see the anger flash in Duncan’s face. Finally, he was getting to him.
“Your great warriors are all killed or captured,” Ra continued, wanting to pain him, “and nothing remains of the Escalon that once was. Soon it will not even be a memory, for I shall rename it. It will be but another outpost of Pandesia. Your name, your exploits, your warriors, the life you’ve lived—all of it will be wiped from the history books. You will be nothing, not even a shell, not even a memory. And those who remember you will all be dead, too.”
Ra grinned, unable to contain his joy.
“I came down here because I wanted to see your face when I told you,” he concluded.
There came a long silence, Ra waiting, trembling with anticipation, seeing the range of emotions swirl through Duncan’s face.
Finally, Duncan replied.
“I don’t need memories,” he said, his voice raspy yet still defiant. “I don’t need history books. I know the life I lived. I know how I have lived. And so do the people who have lived it with me. Whether I am dead or forgotten makes no difference to me. You say you have taken everything away. Yet you forget one thing: our spirit remains intact. And that can never been taken. That is the one thing you shall never possess. And the anger that that gives you, that is what shall give me joy at my death.”
Ra felt an intense wave of rage. He took a deep breath and scowled down at this defiant creature.
“In the morning,” Ra said, trembling with anger, “when they come to take you to your death, you will stand in the public square and proclaim to all of Andros that you were wrong. That I am the supreme ruler. That you defer to me. If you do so, I will not torture you, and you will die a quick and painless death. If you are convincing, I may even let you live and return to you the rulership of your land.”
This was the moment when Ra expected Duncan, like all his other prisoners in all his other lands, to finally give in.
But to Ra’s surprise, Duncan continued to stare back defiantly.
“Never,” Duncan replied.
Ra glared back. In a rage, he drew his sword and raised it, his hands shaking. More than anything he craved to chop off his head right now. Yet he forced himself to refrain, wanting to see him tortured publicly instead.
Ra threw down his sword, and it landed with a clang. He turned and burst out of the cell, eager for dawn, for Duncan’s death, and for Escalon to be his.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Kavos paced the holding pen amidst the crowd of soldiers, Bramthos, Seavig and Arthfael beside him, all of them prisoners of war, all desperate to get out. Beside him were hundreds of men, his men, Duncan’s men, Seavig’s men, all proud and noble soldiers, all who had followed Duncan into war and been forced to surrender. He could hardly conceive that it had come to this, that they were all at the mercy of Pandesia.
Kavos fumed. It had been a mistake to surrender to these Pandesians. Better to have gone down to their deaths fighting. Duncan had been led away, it pained him as he wondered what had become of him. Was he alive? Dead? Being tortured?
Kavos had never surrendered before, not once in his life, under any circumstances, and he did so this time only grudgingly. He had done so only at Duncan’s command, had only laid down his arms because thousands of other soldiers had done so as well. They had all been corralled into this pen outside the capital, awaiting their fate, day after day, with no end in sight. Were they going to be released? Would there be an amnesty? Would they be enslaved in the Pandesian army? Or was Pandesia waiting to put them all to death?
Kavos paced, as he had every day, waiting to hear their fate. He looked over at the thousands of dejected soldiers in here, standing or sitting or pacing, being held in this huge stone courtyard, iron bars caging them in on all sides. They were hardly a mile outside the capital, and he looked out and saw the Pandesian flag flying boldly over the city gates. He burned. He wanted just one more chance to boldly attack the Pandesians. He did not care if he died in the process—he just did not want to die like this.
More than anything, Kavos wanted to find and free Duncan. Duncan was a good man and a good warlord, who had just made one mistake in being too trusting, in taking men for their word. Not all men were like he.
“You think they’re still alive?” came a voice.
Kavos turned to see Seavig standing beside him, looking at him, concern across his face. Kavos sighed.
“Duncan was not born to die,” he said.
“Death holds no grip on him,” Bramthos added, coming up beside him. “He has escaped it too many times. If he dies, then what is best in all of us dies with him.”
“Yet his sons were killed,” Seavig chimed in. “That could strip away his will to live.”
“True,” Arthfael said, joining them. “Yet he has another son to live for. And a daughter.”
“Shall we just stand here and wait then?” asked Bramthos. “Wait for the Pandesians to decide our fates? To come and kill us all?”
They all exchanged uncomfortable glances.
“They won’t kill us,” Seavig said. “If they were to kill us, wouldn’t they have already?”
Kavos shrugged as they all looked to him.
“Perhaps not,” Kavos replied. “After all, there lies a value in killing us publicly.”
“Or enslaving us,” Arthfael added, “breaking us up into their armies and sending us overseas.”
As they all stood there, concerned, a sudden cheer cut through the air. Kavos and the others turned and looked out through the iron bars and he saw, in the distance, a large group of Pandesian soldiers cheering, waving the banner of Pandesia. He watched the jubilant soldiers, wondering what was happening.
He called out to the guard standing just beyond the wall.
“What’s happened?”
The soldier turned and grinned at him.
“Congratulations,” the soldier said. “Your King is dead.”
Kavos felt a pit in his stomach as he wracked his brain, trying to understand. Did he mean Duncan?
Then, suddenly, he realized: Enis. The usurper.
“None of us are safe,” Seavig said. “If they have killed him already, surely they won’t spare us.”
They all looked to each other with grim faces, and Kavos knew he was right. They did not respect the rule of law. Death was coming for them all.
“Night falls,” said another, looking out past the setting sun, to the torches being lit. “Perhaps they will kill us, too, tomo
rrow.”
“Let’s not give them the chance then,” Kavos said, forming an idea.
They all looked at him.
“We have no weapons,” Seavig said. “What can we do?”
“We have our hands,” Kavos replied. “And we have our minds. Sometimes that is all one needs.”
They looked back with puzzled expressions, and Kavos, an idea forming, walked to the cell bars.
“You there!” he called out to the guard again. “We need help!”
The Pandesian guard, pacing in the distance, looked his way suspiciously.
“What help could you possibly need?” he asked.
“I have something here,” he improvised, “something that the Supreme Ra will be eager to see.”
The guard furrowed his brow and then turned and approached, stopping a few feet away.
“If you’re wasting my time,” he said gruffly, “I will kill you. And your friends.” He scowled. “So what is it?”
Kavos swallowed, thinking fast. He needed the guard to get closer.
“You can bring it to him yourself and be the hero,” Kavos said. “All I want in return is more provisions.”
“You’ll be lucky if I don’t give you death,” the guard snapped. “Now show it to me.”
Kavos, suddenly remembering the jewel in his satchel, the one his wife had given him before he’d left for war, took out a cloth from his sack, unfolded it, and revealed a sparkling red ruby.
The guard, intrigued, stepped forward, as Kavos hoped he would, and stopped before the iron bars.
“Hand it through,” he demanded.
“Surely,” Kavos answered.
Kavos reached out with the jewel, putting it through the bars, and as the guard reached, Kavos dropped it. The guard squatted down to pick it up, and as he did, Kavos kicked him as hard as he could, through the bars, in the face, knocking him out.
There came a sudden commotion as all the prisoners around him rushed forward, excited. Kavos lunged through the bars and grabbed the body, just able to reach it. He then dragged him forward, reached for the guard’s belt and grabbed his keys. All the men around him cheered as he quickly unlocked it with shaking hands.
The heavy iron squeaked as they pushed it open.
Kavos stopped at the cell door, looking out, seeing the Pandesians in the distance who luckily hadn’t spotted them yet. All the prisoners stopped at the door behind him, unsure. Kavos turned and faced them.
“Men,” he called out, “we’re unarmed. We have two choices. We can flee to our homes, escape from the capital, and go as far and as fast as we can. Or we can do what warriors do, what men of Escalon do: kill these invaders, strip their arms, and rescue our commander! We will likely die trying. But we shall die with honor! Are you with me?!”
There came a great cheer. As one, the prisoners stampeded out of the gate, a unified force, all rushing for the Pandesians, all prepared to fight to the death. They would either die on this field, or Andros would be theirs.
Duncan, Kavos thought. Hang in there. We’re coming for you.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Aidan stood with Motley atop the makeshift stage, a huge wooden platform in the center of Andros, and he looked out at the sea of faces. He stood there, frozen. For the first time in his life, he experienced stage fright. He had never gone anywhere near a stage before, had never even met an actor before meeting Motley, and as he stood there, part of the play, looking out at the crowd, everyone looking back at him, he had never felt so self-conscious in his life. He wanted to curl up and die.
As he stood there, unable to remember his line, Aidan had a whole new respect for actors. In their own way, he realized, they were fearless warriors. It took courage to face this crowd of strangers, more courage than he had, more courage, even, than it took his father and his men to raise their swords.
Motley turned and faced him, clearly annoyed, and repeated his line:
“Do you really think Escalon can serve him?” he prodded.
Aidan had tunnel vision. The world slowed as he saw several actors in one corner of the stage juggling multicolored balls, and several actors in another corner twirling flaming torches across the stage. He knew he had a part in this play, but he just could not, for the life of him, remember what it was.
Finally, Motley must have realized he was blanking, because he stepped up and draped a hand on Aidan’s shoulder.
“I can see that you do,” Motley boomed out to the crowd, saving him. “I am glad to serve the Supreme and Holy Ra, as are we all. He has glorified our homeland with his visit. Don’t you think?”
Aidan knew this was his cue, that he was supposed to say something. But he forgot what it was. He felt all the eyes on him, and he wished he were invisible. This was a stupid plan, he realized now, thinking they could use their entertainment to distract the Pandesians, to get them into the heart of the capital, closer to his father, to save him. It had gotten them closer, but Aidan didn’t see how this could ever work. It had allowed them access to the center of the capital, and Motley had been right: it seemed the entire city was riveted. It was the distraction he needed. Yet he couldn’t remember, with all these eyes upon him, what he was supposed to do.
“Yes,” he finally said, his voice cracking.
The crowd burst into laughter, clearly realizing that Aidan had forgot his lines, and Aidan reddened; he had never felt more humiliated.
“And you will serve him forever?” Motley prodded, secretly nodding yes.
“Yes,” Aidan said again.
Motley faced the crowd and grinned.
“A man of many words!” he called out.
The crowd roared with laughter.
A group of actors suddenly rushed forward and joined them on stage, juggling torches, signaling that this part of the play was over. As they did, Motley gestured to Aidan, who rushed over to him.
“Now’s the time,” Motley whispered urgently. “Move quickly!”
Aidan snapped back to the present, remembered their master plan, why they were here in the first place. With the crowd distracted, he quickly slinked away, taking cover behind the new actors, and exited from the rear of the stage.
Aidan’s heart was slamming as he bolted from the stage, jumping down, hitting the ground hard and stumbling to the ground. He scrambled to his knees and ran to a dark corner behind the stage, where he collected himself, breathing hard, sweating.
He looked everywhere, his palms sweaty, trying to recall the plan. It was hard to think straight.
His father. The dungeons. The guards….
White, waiting in the shadows of the stage, immediately came up beside him. Aidan knelt down before him and stroked his head.
“You stay here, boy,” he said. “I can’t have you coming where I’m going. Wait for Motley. He’ll bring you.”
White licked his face in return.
Aidan realized he had no time left to lose. He burst back into action, heart pounding with excitement, realizing how close his father was. He sprinted down dark alleys, twisting and turning through the back streets of Andros, heading toward the low, stone building in the distance which he knew held the dungeon.
He finally stopped nearby and crouched in the shadows, breathing hard, as he looked over and studied a Pandesian soldier standing guard at the imposing iron gates to the dungeon. Aidan racked his brain, wondering how to get past the guard. He had hoped, with the whole city watching the play, that the guards would be, too. But he was wrong. He could not overpower this man, and he didn’t see any way past him.
Aidan thought hard and realized he needed to cause a distraction. He reached down and felt the pouch of silver coins at his waist, the ones Motley had given him, just in case. He crept closer along the wall and when he was but a few feet away, he reached out and flung the sack with all his might.
It landed in the courtyard, about ten feet from the guard, and the silver coins spilled out and clinked all over the cobblestone.
The soldier jumped
. He rushed over to the noise, and Aidan held his breath while he looked about suspiciously.
This was his chance. Aidan raced for the open gate, his heart slamming. He began to rush through it—when suddenly he heard footsteps right behind him and felt a rough hand on his shoulder. He felt himself being yanked back, and he turned to see the angry face of the Pandesian soldier, dressed in blue and yellow armor, staring him down.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded. “Who are you?”
Aidan stood there, speechless, unsure what to say.
The soldier leaned in close, pulled a dagger from his waist, and began to raise it. Aidan cringed, realizing this would end badly. He had no way out, and didn’t know what to say.
“You were trying to sneak into the dungeons. Why?” the soldier demanded. “Trying to rescue someone, are you? Who?”
Aidan struggled to break free, but it was no use. The soldier was too strong. He raised his dagger, preparing to slice Aidan’s throat, and Aidan was certain his time had come. What pained him most was not the thought of dying, but rather being so close to freeing his father—and failing.
Aidan spotted motion out of the corner of his eye, and then it all happened so fast; he saw long, strawberry hair, then saw a short girl grab the soldier’s arm and snap his wrist. The soldier shrieked, dropping his knife.
The girl immediately grabbed it and in one quick motion, sank it into his heart.
The soldier gasped and dropped to his knees, a shocked expression on his face, seeming more surprised that a young, small girl could kill him than by the fact that he was dying. The girl pulled out the dagger and quickly sliced his throat, and he dropped down to the ground face first, dead.
Aidan stood there, stunned, realizing his life had been saved and not understanding why, or who this person was. She faced him, and as he looked closely, he began to recognize the girl’s features. Beneath the dirt on her face and clothes she was disarmingly pretty, about his age, with sparkling blue eyes and strong cheekbones. He knew her, but could not remember from where.