Rise Of The Valiant (Book 2)

by Morgan Rice

  But Duncan merely shook his head and got back to his knees, joined by others all around him as they reached the plateau. He looked up and was grateful to see the mountain face level off a bit, not such a steep climb. Duncan dug his pick and shoes in again and continued on, taking it one step at a time, trying not to think of the journey ahead.

  Duncan wondered how the men of Kos ever came down off this mountain. He had fought beside them in battle more than once, yet he had never seen them up here, in their element, in these mountains. They were truly a different breed of man, he realized, living amidst such heights, winds and snow.

  They climbed for what felt like hours more, Duncan looking up now and again and checking, the peak always seeming to be further and further away, always out of reach. As they went, a cloud drifted in and consumed them, and before long, there was a complete whiteout.

  Duncan continued to climb, knowing this was crazy but that now they had no choice. He hoped only for the safety of his men below, and as soon as another gale blew the cloud away, he looked down, checking on his men. There they were all still there, hiking behind him, all slowly but surely scaling their way up the mountain. He caught a glimpse of the magnificent view, all of Escalon spread out below, between majestic peaks capped in white. He felt like a king up here, atop the world, able to see the entire country from one end to the other. Escalon was a beautiful country, with its rolling hills, wide-open plains, dotted with lakes, intersected by rivers and waterfalls. It was a land of bounty and goodness, one that had been robbed from them since the Pandesians had arrived. Duncan knew he had to find a way to get it back.

  Duncan looked back up the mountain face, arms shaking as he slammed the pick in and pulled. This appeared to be the last stretch of ice before him, the wall straight and smooth, with perhaps another hundred feet to climb. Duncan, exhausted, was dreading it, but it had to be done. He just prayed his arms did not give out.

  Duncan climbed higher, the wind picking up, when another cloud appeared, consuming them in a whiteout, then disappeared just as quickly. He stepped with shaking legs, then paused and let the sweat sting his eyes, not daring to wipe it. He looked up and saw he had only gone a few feet, although it had felt like hours. These few feet might as well have been a few miles.

  Duncan stopped and listened as, over the sound of the wind and snow, there slowly arose another sound, like a squealing. It seemed to grow louder by the moment. He froze, wondering what it could be.

  Duncan detected motion out of the corner of his eye, and as he turned, he was horrified to see a swarm of creatures flying right for him, small, nearly translucent, resembling a flock of bats. The creatures opened their jaws and squealed their awful noise, revealing three crystal fangs. They flew in an odd way, leaning from side to side, and thousands of them all suddenly descended right for Duncan and his men, vulnerable, perched on the cliff.

  “Ice bats!” Seavig yelled out. “Take cover!”

  Duncan ducked, holding the pick with one hand and covering the back of his head with the other, and a moment later he was engulfed. These creatures descended on him, screeching in his ears, clawing at him. The wounded soldier on his back shrieked out in pain.

  Duncan looked down below and was relieved to see most of his men taking cover on the plateau, lying on their stomachs, raising their hands over their heads. But Duncan and Seavig were too high up, way out in front of the group, and they could not make it back down in time. Duncan knew he was alone up here, and that he would have to fight it out on his own.

  Duncan fought back. He grasped the other pick and swung around his head, chopping at them, swinging wildly. Screeching arose as he killed more than a few of them, the things dropping all around him.

  Yet, Duncan soon realized, it was but a drop in the bucket; for every one he killed, ten more appeared. He was getting scratched and bit in every direction, and as the pain ripped through his body, Duncan, growing weaker, did not know how much longer he could hang on.

  An ice bat sunk his fangs deep into his shoulder and Duncan shrieked out in pain, losing his balance as he reached around with his free hand and pried it off him, crushing its head. He was growing lightheaded, and, dizzy, felt himself about to fall. He suddenly knew he would die here, in this place, beside his brothers. He did not regret dying. He only regretted dying this way, up here, so far from the home he loved. But death, he knew, came for you when it did, and it had come knocking, definitively, for him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Merk woke to the smell of the ocean, to the feel of ocean mist spraying his face, to the sound of crashing waves, and he opened his eyes slowly, disoriented, wondering where he was. He tried to shake off the cobwebs of his mind, having had a long night filled with dreams he did not understand. He had dreamt of rescuing the girl from her burning farm, her family’s faces haunting him, pointing at him, accusing him, only to see them all go up in flames—and he with them. His last dream had been of his ascending the tower, running up a circular staircase for what felt like hours, only to reach the top and slip and come hurtling down to the ground.

  Merk opened his eyes to see the sun rise over the windy, desolate peninsula that housed the Tower of Ur and slowly, he remembered where he was. The vast Sea of Sorrow stretched out to the horizon, its waves rolling and smashing into the soaring cliffs that framed Escalon high above the sea. Feeling a stiffness in his back and neck, Merk sat up and looked around, trying to get his bearings. He felt cold hard metal against his back, and he turned and saw what he had slept against all night: the silver doors of Ur.

  It all came rushing back: after being rejected from the tower, Merk had circled around, searching for another way in, and he had found this other set of doors, on the far side of the tower, identical to the doors in the front, except these made of silver. These, too, were carved with writing and symbols he could not read. He remembered slamming against these doors half the night, refusing to be turned away. But no one had answered his slamming—and finally, he had fallen asleep.

  Merk rose to his feet, his knees stiff from the long night, his body aching, and as he looked at the morning sun he felt a fresh determination. He was not a quitter. He had known it would not be easy to enter here—after all, the Watchers were an elite, sacred sect, famed for turning people away. He sensed, though, that this was part of their ritual, their way of weeding out those who were not meant to be here.

  Merk looked back up at the tower, awe-inspiring, rising to the sky, its ancient stone so smooth, its silver doors shining, tinted scarlet in the morning sun, and he knew he had no choice but to try again, however long it took.

  Merk raised his dagger and once again slammed its hilt on the door, pounding again and again and again. The slams echoed in the still morning air, the tower sounding hollow. He slammed and slammed until his arms were weary, falling into a monotonous rhythm. The vibrations shook his hand, his wrist, his arms and shoulders until they were numb. He no longer cared.

  As he slammed, Merk pondered his previous encounter, pondered the words of the creature who had opened the slot in the door: Only the worthy may enterhere the man had said. What had he meant? What did it mean to be worthy? What was the answer they were hoping for? What answer would open those doors?

  The riddle circled in his mind, again and again, echoing with each slam. Merk was determined to answer correctly next time it opened—if it ever opened again.

  After hours of slamming, so long that he could no longer think straight, suddenly, to Merk’s surprise, a slot slid open in the door, as it had in the front.

  Merk stopped, stunned, and he stared back, his heart pounding to see the two yellow eyes appear again, realizing he had another chance and determined not to lose it. The eyes were filled with intensity as they stared back, silently summing him up.

  “Please,” Merk said, breathing heavily. “Let me in. Let me join you. I demand to be let it!”

  There came a long silence, so long that Merk began to wonder if the man would ever respond.


  Then finally, he spoke:

  “Only the worthy can enter here. Are you worthy?” he asked, his voice deep, ancient.

  Merk felt a rush of excitement.

  “I am worthy!” he called back confidently.

  “Why?” the voice asked. “Why are you worthy?”

  Merk wracked his brain, thinking, desperate to say the right thing.

  “I am worthy because I am a fearless warrior. Because I am loyal. Because I want to join your ranks and help your cause. I am worthy because I want to protect the tower and protect the sword. I am worthy because I am a better killer than anyone here. Let me in and allow me to prove it to you.”

  The eyes stared back for a long time, and Merk stood there, heart pounding, feeling certain he had answered correctly and that the man would let him in.

  But to his shock and disappointment, the slot slammed closed as quickly as it had opened, and he heard footsteps walking away. He could not believe it. He was crestfallen.

  Merk stared back at the silver doors, shaken. It couldn’t be possible.

  “No!” Merk cried in anguish. “You must let me in!”

  Merk slammed on the door again and again, wondering what he had done wrong.

  Why was he worthy?

  Merk pondered what worthiness meant. What did it really mean to be worthy? Was anyone really worthy? Who could even determine that?

  Merk, torn up inside, turned his back on the tower. Without this place, without this chance at a new start in life, he could not imagine any other life for himself, any other place to go.

  Merk strutted across the plateau, burning with frustration, until he reached the edge of the cliff. He stood there, looking down at the crashing of the great waves beneath him and suddenly, in a bout of frustration, he hurled his dagger, his most precious possession, his only means of slamming on those doors.

  He watched as it tumbled down over the cliff, falling hundreds of feet below into the sea, disappearing in a great crashing of waves.

  He leaned back and shrieked a cry of agony, of loneliness. It rose to the heavens, echoed by a lonely seagull, and disappeared into the next crashing wave, as if mocking him, as if letting him know that, no matter what he did, he would never be allowed into the Tower of Ur.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Kyra clutched her horse’s mane as they galloped through Whitewood, the wind in her hair, two girls seated on the horse behind her, and surrounded by the girls she and Dierdre had freed, all of them riding, Leo at their heels. Kyra felt a great sense of satisfaction as she saw all of their faces, so thrilled to be free, so thrilled to be alive. She had rescued them from a dark future, and that meant more than anything to them.

  Finally, Kyra had a horse beneath her, the final stretch before her, and a sense of optimism, a sense that her long quest would soon be over—and that she was actually going to make it. They all rode together, a unified force, all of them invigorated. They galloped, as they had for hours, and Kyra took a deep breath, filled with a rush of excitement as they burst out of the shimmering leaves of Whitewood and into the open plains. The huge sky stretched before her and Kyra felt as if the world had been unveiled. After so many days of being trapped in the dark woods, she felt a sense of freedom and exhilaration as she had never before.

  The gorgeous countryside of Ur opened up before her, and it was a place unlike any she had ever seen. There were magnificent rolling hills, covered in orange and purple flowers, this part of Escalon much warmer than Volis. The late afternoon sun shone down, illuminating it all in a scarlet light, making this land look as if it had been forged by the hand of God.

  Kyra kicked her horse and egged him on faster, invigorated. They hadn’t stopped for hours, none of them wanting a break, all wanting to escape the woods, to escape their dark past, and to look to the future. Kyra rode up and down hills, breathing in the Ur air, feeling as if a whole new life were opening up before her.

  Hours more passed when, finally, they crested a hill higher than the rest and they call came to a stop at its peak. They paused atop a wide plateau, on which stood a tall, wooden beam with arrows pointing in four directions. Kyra saw well-worn paths leading from the hill in all directions, and she knew they had reached a crossroads.

  She studied the horizon, while Dierdre came up beside her.

  “That road leads to Ur,” Dierdre pointed. “My city.”

  Kyra followed her glance and saw on the horizon the outlines of a magnificent, sprawling city, its spires and domes and parapets shining in the sun; just beyond it was the faint outline of what appeared to be the sea, light reflecting off of it and illuminating the city. At the entrance to the city there sat a temple, following the tradition of many of Escalon’s western cities, with an arch cut through its center to allow travelers to pass in and out. It was crowned by a steeple, higher than any she’d ever seen, and she studied it in awe, amazed a temple could rise that high. Ur, the city of legend, the stronghold of the west, the gate to the open sea, the sea through which all commerce flowed in and out of Escalon.

  Dierdre turned and pointed to the road leading the opposite direction.

  “Perhaps a day’s ride north lies the peninsula of Ur,” she explained. “That way lies the tower you seek.”

  Kyra studied the contours of the land, the long skinny peninsula jutting out into the ocean, so far that she could not see where it ended, disappearing in a cloud of mist. Kyra knew that somewhere out there, beyond the mist, lay her destination. Her uncle. Her quest. She looked down and saw one of the roads forking towards it, a road less traveled—and she felt her destiny calling her.

  At her heels Leo whined, as if he sensed it, too.

  Kyra turned to look at Dierdre, and for a moment, she felt a pang of sadness. Their journey together had come to an end. Kyra hadn’t realized how accustomed she had grown to Dierdre’s presence; she had become a true friend, like the sister she’d never had. And as she looked out at the faces of all these other girls, hope in their eyes, freedom before them, she felt reluctant to leave them, too. But she knew her calling awaited her, and it lay in the opposite direction.

  “I shall miss you, my friend,” Kyra said.

  She saw anxiety etched across Dierdre’s face, too.

  “Shall we not see each other again?” Dierdre asked.

  Kyra was wondering the same thing, but did not know the answer.

  “When I finish my training,” Kyra replied, “I vowed to my father to return and help our people.”

  “I shall help our people, too,” Dierdre replied. “I shall rally men, perhaps, do whatever I can to help the cause. When two people’s paths are meant to cross, nothing can keep them apart. I believe we shall meet again. Somewhere, somehow.”

  “We shall.”

  Dierdre reached out and they clasped arms, looking each other in the eye. Both of them had aged, both had grown stronger, since they had met.

  Kyra dismounted, to everyone’s look of surprise, and handed the reins to Dierdre.

  “You have many girls here to take care of,” Kyra said, seeing the girls tripled up on the horses. “You shall need this horse more than I.”

  “Then how will you reach the tower?” one of the girls asked.

  Kyra turned and looked.

  “It is hardly a day’s hike,” she said. “And I have Leo. I would like to walk. I have my staff and my bow, and I fear nothing.”

  Kyra saw the look of respect in all of their eyes, and the look of gratitude, as two girls, tripled up on a horse, dismounted and mounted hers.

  “I never met anyone like you,” Dierdre said. “I had always thought that bravery was reserved for men. But now I see it can be for us, too. You have given me a greater gift than you can ever know—and for that I can’t thank you enough.”

  Kyra’s eyes welled as she looked over these brave girls who had a second chance at life.

  “Take care of these girls,” Kyra adjured her. “If they want protection, give it to them—but if they want to l
earn to fight, give that to them, too. If you shelter a warrior, you save their body, but kill their spirit. And these girls all have great spirit.”

  Kyra watched as the girls all rode away, galloping down the hillside, into the setting sun and toward the shining city of Ur. She watched them go for a long time, leaving a cloud of dust in their trail. Dierdre turned back, once, and looked for her, raising a single fist high in the air—and Kyra raised her fist back.

  Then, just like that, they were over the hill, gone from sight, nothing left but the distant rumble and vibrations of their travel.

  Leo whined beside her, as if sad to see Dierdre go, and Kyra turned, took her staff and began to hike. She marched down the hillside in the opposite direction, heading northwest, toward the peninsula of Ur, and somewhere beyond that mist, toward the tower.

  As she marched through a field, a million thoughts raced through her mind. She pondered her destination, the tower, her uncle. She thought of the training she would receive, the powers she would gain, what she would come to know about herself. She thought of all the secrets awaiting her. Her mother’s identity. Her destiny. It made her nervous, but also excited.

  It was overwhelming to even consider it, and her heart beat faster at the thought. More terrifying than any foe out there, more terrifying than the idea of not completing her quest, was the idea of completing it, of finding out about herself, of getting to the bottom of the riddle that had plagued her her whole life: who was she?

  *

  Kyra hiked for hours, excited, determined, feeling each step take her closer to the end of her quest, and the beginning of her new life. She hardly felt the burning in her legs as she ascended and descended the gently rolling hills and she did not even think of pausing until, hours later, she crested a hill and reached a broad plateau. She leaned against her staff and took in the vista, and the sight was startling: the whole peninsula of Ur was laid out before her, the ocean now visible in the distance, its waves already audible. A mist blew in and out, still obscuring the tower, but she knew that it was close.