Rise of the Dragons (Kings and Sorcerers--Book 1)

by Morgan Rice

  *

  Alec braced himself as he was yanked off the cart by Pandesian handlers and went tumbling down, with a mass of boys, into the hard ground below. Boys landed on top of him, and as he struggled to breathe, it shocked him how hard the ground was—and that it was covered in snow. He wasn’t used to this northeastern weather, and he realized immediately that his Midland clothes, too thin, would be useless here. Back in Soli, though it was but a few days’ ride south, the ground was soft, covered in green moss, lush; it never snowed there and the air smelled of flowers. Here it was cold and hard, lifeless—and the air smelled only of fire.

  As Alec disentangled himself from the mass of bodies, he had barely gained his feet when he was shoved in the back. He stumbled forward and turned to see a handler behind him, herding all the boys like cattle toward the barracks.

  Behind him Alec watched as several dozen boys emerged from his cart; more than one, he was surprised to see, fell out limply, dead. He marveled that he’d survived the journey, crammed in as he’d been. He ached in every bone in his body, his joints stiff, and as he marched, he had never felt more weary. He felt as though he hadn’t slept in months, and as he felt as if he’d arrived at the end of the world.

  Crackling filled the air and Alec looked up and saw, perhaps a hundred yards away, The Flames. They walked toward them, and they loomed larger and larger. They were awe-inspiring in person, up close, and he appreciated their heat, growing warmer with each step he took. He feared, though, how hot it would become when he got up close, as the others on patrol who stood hardly twenty yards away. He noticed they wore unusual protective armor. Even so, some lay there, limp, having clearly collapsed.

  “See those flames, boy?” came a sinister voice.

  Alec turned to see the boy he’d confronted in the carriage coming up beside him, his friend beside him, sneering.

  “When I take your face to them no one’s gonna recognize you—not even your mama. I’ll burn your hands off until they’re nothing but stumps. Appreciate what you got before you lose it.”

  He laughed, a dark, mean noise, sounding like a cough.

  Alec stared back with defiance, Marco now beside him.

  “You couldn’t beat me in the carriage,” Alec replied, “and you won’t beat me now.”

  The boy snickered.

  “This ain’t no carriage, boy,” he said. “You’ll be sleeping with me tonight. Those barracks are all of ours. One night, one roof. It’s you and me. And I’ve got all the time in the world. It might be tonight or it might be tomorrow—but one of these nights, when you least expect it, you’ll be sleeping and we’ll get you. You’ll wake up to find your face in those flames. Sleep tight,” he concluded with a laugh.

  “If you’re so tough,” Marco said, beside him, “what are you waiting for? Here we are. Try it.”

  Alec saw the boy hesitate as he glanced back at the Pandesian handlers.

  “When the time is right,” he replied.

  With that, they slinked away into the crowd.

  “Don’t worry,” Marco said. “You’ll sleep when I wake, and I’ll do the same for you. If that scum come near us, they’ll wish they hadn’t.”

  Alec nodded in agreement, grateful, as he looked out at the barracks and wondered. A few feet from the packed entrance, Alec could already smell the body odor emanating from the building. He recoiled as he was shoved inside.

  Alec tried to adjust to the dark barracks, lit only by the weak light coming through a few windows, high up. He looked down at the dirt floor and realized immediately that the carriage, as bad as it was, was better than this. He saw rows of suspicious, hostile faces, only the whites of their eyes visible, judging him up. They started to hoot and holler, clearly trying to intimidate them, the newbies, and to stake out their territory, and the barracks became filled with loud voices.

  “Fresh meat!” called one.

  “Fodder for The Flames!” cried another.

  Alec felt a deepening sense of apprehension as they were all shoved deeper and deeper into the one big room. He finally stopped, Marco beside him, before an open patch of straw on the ground—only to be immediately shoved from behind.

  “That’s my spot, boy.”

  Alec turned to see an older recruit glaring at him, holding a dagger.

  “Unless you want me to cut your throat,” he warned.

  Marco stepped forward.

  “Keep your hay,” he said. “It stinks anyway.”

  The two of them turned and continued deeper into the barracks, until, in a far corner, Alec found a small patch of hay deep in the shadows. He saw no one nearby, and he and Marco sat, a few feet away from each other, their backs against the wall.

  Alec immediately breathed a sigh of relief; it felt so good to rest his aching legs, to not be in motion. He felt secure with his back to the wall, in a corner, where he could not get easily ambushed, and having a view of the room. He saw hundreds of recruits milling about, all in some state of argument, and dozens more pouring in by the second. He also saw several being dragged out by their ankles, dead. This place was a vision of hell.

  “Don’t worry, it gets worse,” said a voice beside him.

  Alec turned to see a recruit lying in the shadows a few feet away, a boy he hadn’t noticed before, on his back, hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. He chewed on a piece of straw, and he had a deep, jaded voice.

  “Hunger will probably kill you,” the boy added darkly. “It kills about half the boys that come through here. Disease kills most others. If that doesn’t get you, another boy will. Maybe you’ll fight over a piece of bread—or maybe for no reason at all. Maybe he won’t like the way you walk, or the way you look. Maybe you’ll remind him of someone. Or maybe it’ll just be pure hate for no reason. There’s a lot of that going around here.”

  He sighed.

  “And if all that doesn’t get you,” he added, “those flames will. Maybe not on your first patrol, or your second. But trolls break through when you least expect it, usually on fire, always looking to kill something. They’ve got nothing to lose and they come out of nowhere. I saw one the other night, sank its teeth in a boy’s throat before the others could do anything.”

  Alec exchanged a look with Marco, each wondering what kind of life they’d signed up for.

  “Nope,” the boy added, “I haven’t seen any boy survive more than one moon of duty.”

  “You’re still here,” Marco observed.

  The boy grinned, chewing on his straw, still looking up.

  “That’s because I learned how to survive,” he replied.

  “How long have you been here?” Alec asked.

  “Two moons,” he replied. “The longest of all of them.”

  Alec gasped, shocked. Two moons, and the oldest survivor. This really was a factory of death. He started to wonder if he had made a mistake in coming here; maybe he should have just fought the Pandesians when they’d arrived in Solis and died a quick, clean death back at home. He found his thoughts turning to escape; after all, his brother had been spared—what did he have to gain by staying here now?

  Alec found himself searching the walls, checking the windows and doors, counting the guards, wondering if there was a way.

  “That’s good,” the boy said, still staring at the ceiling, yet somehow observing him. “Think of escape. Think of anything but this place. That’s how you survive.”

  Alec flushed, embarrassed the boy read his mind, and amazed he could do it without even looking directly at him.

  “But don’t really try it,” the boy said. “I can’t tell you how many of us die each night trying. Better to be killed than to die that way.”

  “Die what way?” Marco asked. “Do they torture you?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “Worse,” he replied. “They let you go.”

  Alec stared back, confused.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “They chose this spot well,” he explained. “Th
ose woods are filled with death. Boars, beasts, trolls—everything you can imagine. No boy ever survives.”

  The boy grinned, and looked at them for the first time.

  “Welcome, my friends,” he said, smiling wide, “to The Flames.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO