A Realm of Shadows

by Morgan Rice

  Within moments most of the warriors of Knossos were dead, shrieking, aflame, nowhere to take cover. Merk watched in panic as a dragon singled him out and dove for him. Out of some primal reflex, he ducked, and the dragon’s claw knocked the helmet off his head, sending it clanging down, bouncing off the rocks, down to the water. Yet somehow, miraculously, Merk survived, the flames parting ways around his massive shield as he crouched below it.

  Merk saw dozens more dragons turning for them, and he knew that death was coming, that, within moments, whoever survived on this rocky isle would be dead. Their strategy had failed. They had been spared from the trolls only to be killed by the dragons.

  Without thinking, Merk turned and ran. He saw Lorna standing there, frozen in panic, sheltered behind a stone ledge from the flames, most of her Watchers dead. At her side stood Thurn, still fighting off trolls valiantly, despite his multiple wounds.

  Merk grabbed Lorna, yanked her, and forced her to run with him.

  She turned and looked at Thurn.

  He nodded back.

  “Run!” he said. “It is your only chance.”

  “Only if you come!” she yelled.

  She grabbed his wrist, and he turned and ran with them, covering their backs from any attack.

  With the dragons closing in, the isle aflame, men dead all around them, they ran for their lives. Merk’s heart slammed as he sensed the dragons closing in behind him and as he saw, in the distance, the far end of the isle. If they could just make it to the edge, to the far side of the fort, Merk knew, they could reach the cliffs on the far side of the isle, those that had real ocean beneath them, and not the sharp rocks and treacherous tides of the Bay of Death. From there they could leap safely.

  A dragon dove down and set dozens of running warriors aflame beside them, the heat searing Merk’s side, barely missing them. He gasped, sweating, realizing what a close call it was.

  Merk turned and looked back over his shoulder, saw another dragon coming right for them, and knew that this time, the dragon would not miss. He and Lorna were about to die.

  They reached the far side of the fort, and as they ducked behind its stone walls, the column of flame rolled past them, just missing by inches.

  “There!” Merk cried.

  They ran to the edge of the cliffs, and stopped short as they looked below. Merk’s heart fell—it was a huge drop, perhaps a hundred feet, into the massive rolling waves of the ocean. There were no rocks, true, but the fall hardly seemed welcoming.

  He stood there, hesitating. He hated heights. And he hated water. Thurn ran up behind them, turned and faced off against several trolls who were giving chase, swinging his chain and ball and killing them all before they could get close.

  Merk turned and looked back and saw the dragons coming back again, he knew that staying here would mean a certain death. Already one singled them out, breathed its fire, and Merk, watched, in horror, as a wall of flame came right for them. Thurn, the bravest warrior he had ever seen, stood there proudly and made a stand, shielding them from the oncoming dragon.

  “JUMP!” Thurn urged. “Go now, while you have a chance!”

  Lorna squeezed his hand, and he saw the look of assurance in her eyes and it gave him strength. She prodded him, and they leapt together, holding hands.

  The fire just missed them as they plummeted over the edge of the cliff. Merk found himself yelling as they fell and flailed through the air, all the way down until they hit the water. They had watched the waves, and had prayed that Lorna had timed it right so that they landed when a huge wave rolled in. Otherwise, the water would be too shallow and the fall would surely kill them.

  They landed smack in the center of a big wave as it rolled in. The water was freezing, the tides unbelievably strong, and as Merk plunged below the surface, he wondered if every bone in his body was breaking.

  He squeezed Lorna’s hand beneath the surface, and as she fought the plunge and began kicking her way back up towards the surface, so did he. They kicked together, Merk’s ears bursting, strange creatures brushing against him beneath the water, his lungs feeling as if they were crushed.

  Then, finally, just when he thought he would drown, they surfaced.

  Merk gasped for breath. He turned and looked in every direction, wiping water from his eyes. Corpses, of trolls, of men, floated in the water all around him, some still aflame. He looked up and saw the dragons descending for the isle of Knossos again, criss-crossing it, until it was one huge cauldron of flame. A few more seconds up there, and they would have been dead.

  He saw Thurn, standing nobly up there, swinging his sword at the dragon even while he was aflame. Then, finally, he watched in horror as Thurn, aflame, fell backwards off the cliff, plummeting for the sea. He landed in a great hiss of steam, and Merk could not tell if he were dead or alive. He did not know how any human could have survived that.

  Merk heard the awful sound of hundreds of good men dying up there, and he watched in horror as the dragons swept down, talons extended, and smashed the fort of Knossos into pieces. This sacred and proud place, which had stood for thousands of years, was no more.

  As they bobbed in the waves, the undertow taking them out to sea, Merk looked out at the black, ominous waters and wondered if this ocean were even more dangerous than where they had left. He felt the undertow sucking everything down, saw the fins of the strange creatures out at sea, and he had a sinking feeling.

  And then, just when he thought it could not get any worse, he looked up and saw several dragons had spotted them. They broke from the pack and dove down, right for them.

  They roared, and a column of flame rolled down for them. Merk could already feel the heat. Paradoxically, they would be burned alive while in these freezing waters.

  They squeezed hands and braced themselves, and Merk could not help but think: What an awful way to die, where flame meets water.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Kyle sprinted beside Andor and Leo through the ravaged countryside of Escalon, heading north, determined to reach Kyra before she could fly to Marda. He could not shake the image from his mind of her flying overhead on the dragon, could not shake the feeling that she was flying to a place from which she would never return.

  Kyle ran with all he had, running so fast that the countryside around him was a blur, running faster even than Andor, than Leo, faster than any human could. He was determined to stop her from entering Marda, a land where, he knew, her kind could not survive. Even with her skills, Kyra, he knew, was not prepared to face that kind of evil.

  Yet he had to admit he had another, deeper reason for racing to find her. He could not deny what he had felt from the moment he had laid eyes on her. He was in love with her. He knew it in every ounce of his being. She was the girl he had been seeing in his mind’s eye ever since he had been born, for hundreds of years, the girl he knew he was destined to be with. She was the one, he knew, that would change everything.

  Kyle would not hesitate to give up his life to be with her. Ever since he had seen her, he could not explain it, but he knew his destiny was intertwined with hers. She was the one he had been waiting for, for thousands of years. The thought of losing her tore him to pieces. He would do whatever he had to do, even if it meant heading into the darkest depths of Marda, even if he had to walk through the Flames himself, to bring her back.

  Kyle reflected on how lucky he had been to rescue her from that massive battle against the Pandesians, the trolls, how lucky he had been to survive that himself, due only to the dragons’ intervention. He felt something monumental shifting in the universe, that they were on the brink of history, of the world being either saved or destroyed for good. And he could not help but feel as if he and Kyra were in the crossroads. After all these centuries, the Final Coming was here. It was the time he had learned of as a child, the time he had thought would never arrive. These were the days the sky would turn black with dragons, the oceans would spit fire, and the rivers would run with blood. He remembered t
he prophecies and remembered wondering if they were but myths. Yet now, as he looked around and saw the destruction in Escalon, he knew these were no myths.

  Kyle continued to sprint, passing entire charred villages, piles of corpses, a land once so beautiful now torn to shreds. He leapt over gaping fissures in the earth, pits left where the dragons had sliced open the land with their talons; he ran through forests twisted and black, burned to ashes. He passed through a land he barely recognized, crossing it at nearly the speed of light. Marda, he knew, lay just ahead, and he redoubled his efforts.

  Yet as he neared the Flames, something tugged at him, and he felt himself tremble with a premonition. It was like a pulse, or a vibration, and it was pulling him in another direction. As he ran it became stronger, so strong he could not ignore it, like a bell tolling that he could not ignore.

  Baffled, Kyle turned and looked west, wondering what it could be. In that direction, somewhere over the horizon, lay the Tower of Ur. As he looked, he felt it again, racing through his veins. It was a call of distress. An urgent call for help.

  Kyle stopped, at a crossroads, no longer sure what to do. He looked north, knowing the Flames lay just over the horizon, and somewhere beyond them, Kyra. Yet everything inside of him was also screaming at him to turn west. One of his brothers was in grave danger, a danger he could not ignore.

  It made no sense to Kyle. The tower had been destroyed. Who could possibly be west, in the Tower of Ur? What danger could they be in?

  As agonizing as it was, it did not give Kyle a choice. He turned away from running toward Marda, and instead allowed turned west. Someone beyond those hills needed him—someone who was connected to Kyra—and he could not abandon them.

  *

  Kyle finished sprinting up a series of rolling hills and as he crested the last one, he stopped short at what he saw before him, stunned at the sight: there, against the setting sun, a nation of trolls was flooding the countryside. Kyle’s heart stopped in his throat. That could only mean one thing: The Flames were lowered. Vesuvius must have crossed the Devil’s Finger. He must have beaten Merk and reached the Tower of Kos before him. And he must have stolen the Sword of Fire.

  Even worse, there, down in the valley, Kyle spotted a small group of people standing before the destroyed tower. He blinked, confused, wondering who it could be, and then he recognized one of them: Kolva. Kyra’s uncle. A fellow Watcher, one of the legendary Watchers of all time, facing off against the trolls—and entirely surrounded. Standing beside him were two people whom Kyle did not recognize, and the three of them were about to die. Now Kyle understood why he had been summoned here.

  Without thinking, Kyle sprinted down the hill, Andor and Leo at his side. He burst into the trolls, running faster than he’d ever had, raised his staff, and as he reached the army, he turned the staff sideways and smashed into the lines of trolls.

  Sparks flew from his staff as dozens of trolls went flying back. He swung again and again, the blows so powerful they sent dozens more trolls flying through the air, hundreds of feet. Beside him, Leo and Andor leapt into the air, snarling, sinking fangs into the trolls all around them, tearing them to pieces and watching Kyle’s back.

  Kyle smashed his way through the stunned nation of trolls until finally he cleared room and fought his way all the way to Kolva and his two companions. He leapt forward and jabbed a troll right before it could stab Kolva, while Leo and Andor jumped on two trolls from behind before they could smash the two others with their halberds, saving them just in time.

  Kyle had no chance, though, to catch his breath. He turned to see another wave of trolls pouring in. He swung his staff again and again, smashing one troll, then another, then another. He leapt into the air over three of them, kicked a dozen more to the ground, then spun and struck a dozen more. He fought like a man on fire, determined to save his friends’ lives, to fend off these beasts, to protect his homeland, and all around him, trolls fell. The perimeter widened with each blow.

  Soon he had felled hundreds of them.

  Beside him, Kolva caught a second wind and fought boldly, too, as did his two companions. Kolva wielded his staff, expertly taking out dozens of trolls, while the man and woman with him grabbed flails off the ground and swung them wildly, killing dozens more. They all seemed liberated to have been rescued, to have a second chance at life, and Kyle felt elated that he had trusted his instincts and come here.

  Kyle felt himself gaining momentum. They created a wider perimeter around the Tower of Ur, and he was feeling optimistic that maybe he would be able to drive this army back to Marda, to make a stand on behalf of all of Escalon. This, after all, was the real front line for his homeland, where the real war was being fought.

  Yet as he fought, an ominous horn sounded, rising over the shouts of dying trolls, and as Kyle looked out, he was aghast at what he saw: hundreds of trees fell with a great whooshing noise as the forest opened up all around him. Tens of thousands more trolls poured forward.

  Kyle felt a chill of dread; there was no way they could defend against this many trolls.

  Kyle swung his staff again and again, dropping trolls by the dozens, but even as he did, he knew it was futile. This was no mere army—this was an entire nation. He had thrown himself to Kolva’s defense—only to walk into a death for himself.

  As he fought, Kyle found himself growing weaker. His blows had less power, and the trolls were getting closer. He was increasingly surrounded from all sides, and to his shock, he felt an awful pain in his shoulder and realized a troll had gotten close enough to slice his arm with his halberd. Kyle killed the troll at once, jabbing it in the forehead with his staff, yet it did not change the fact that Kyle had become vulnerable. His aura of invincibility was quickly disappearing.

  As thousands more trolls broke through the forest, stampeding each other, Kyle saw his death looming before him. He heard a cry and he looked over in horror to see Kolva drop to his knees, a troll’s halberd in his stomach. He watched, helpless, as Kolva began to die.

  The man and woman beside him fell, too, each knocked down by the handle of a troll’s halberd, each prone on the ground, helpless to do anything but await their deaths. Even Leo and Andor were surrounded now, the crowd too thick for them to fight back, their whines audible as they were injured.

  Kyle, gasping for air, knew that he was staring death in the face. After all these centuries, his time had come. And his final thought was not that he regretted dying—only that he regretted not seeing Kyra’s face again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Kyra hiked cautiously through the black wood, crouching beneath the huge thorns, on edge, the gloom pervasive and the sense of evil oppressive. It was so dark here it felt like night, the twilight barely able to penetrate the canopy of gnarled branches. Beneath her feet, the ash soil and gnarled, dead branches made odd crunching noises, adding to the feeling of death.

  Kyra peered into the thick wood, trying to make sense of this place, unlike any she had ever been. The trees were entangled with vines, twisting and stretching in every direction, interlacing the branches, protruding with thorns nearly as large as she. As she walked, the canopy dropped so low that in some places she nearly had to duck. The forest seemed too narrow, the branches and thorns creeping ever closer to the path, scratching her arms.

  Kyra heard a perpetual rattling inside the thicket, the stirring of creatures, and it kept her on edge. She spotted glowing yellow and red eyes hiding in the blackness, staring back at her, and she gripped her staff, expecting an attack at any moment, feeling as if she were walking into the blackest corners of hell.

  Kyra hiked and hiked, her heart pounding, wondering where the path was leading her, when finally she saw, somewhere up ahead, the faintest glow. Obscured behind the branches, it was like the glow of a torch, or a fire, so faint, appearing and disappearing. She felt drawn to it, the first marker she had seen in the gloom. It encouraged her to keep hiking, to keep following the trail. As she went, her feet sank into the sl
imy, soft earth beneath her, made of something like moss, sinking up to her ankles.

  She suddenly heard a noise and raised her staff and spun to see a black, wraithlike creature floating in the air. It looked like a ghost, or a demon, all black, with gray eyes. As it hovered behind her, she jabbed it with her staff, and it made an awful howling noise before disappearing into the air above her head, winding its way through the thickets.

  Heart pounding, unsettled, Kyra turned back and continued on her way, winding deeper and deeper into the wood. She felt a new feeling beneath her feet, a crunching, and she looked down to see a trail of bones. She heard a creaking noise, and she looked up at the trees and was horrified to see, swinging there, the rotting carcasses of people who had traveled here. Others were impaled on branches, displayed like trophies. It was like walking through a mausoleum.

  Soon, the trail smoothed out, and Kyra had a sinking feeling. The trail was fresh here, untouched. It was virgin territory. Clearly, no one else had ever gotten this far in the wood before. There must, she knew, be a reason.

  Kyra proceeded deeper, heart pounding, until finally she turned a corner and the canopy rose, opened into a clearing. She was able to stand taller, the gnarled branches now rising up a good thirty feet, as the forest opened wider here. Up ahead, perhaps a hundred yards in the distance, she saw the definitive glow of the torch, and she felt a sense of relief.

  As she neared the end of the trail, a wall of thorns, against flickering torchlight she just barely made out a figure, perhaps a man, perhaps something else. It stood there, its back to her, wearing a black hooded cloak, hunched over a flame. Her sense of apprehension deepened. She could sense the evil even from where she stood.

  Kyra stood there, heart pounding, tightening her grip on her staff. She wondered why the forest had ended, where she had arrived, and if she would ever get out. The person before her was definitely some sort of creature; he possessed an intense spiritual energy, making the hair on her skin rise in warning. She sensed he was a spiritual master, and one from the dark side. Worst of all, she could sense he was more powerful than she.