by Morgan Rice
Kyra heard a rallying cry behind her, and she glanced back to see Anvin leading the men, hunting down the Pandesians that fled in every direction. She soared with pride as she watched the men on horseback raise swords and shields, and fell rows of Pandesian soldiers—those foolish enough to turn around and make a stand. Anvin and the others fought like men possessed, all clearly on a mission to avenge her father. They threw themselves fearlessly into the enemy and hacked them down, carving out a path right down the middle of the Pandesian forces.
Their efforts distracted the Pandesians and helped Kyra stay on track as she dove again and again, criss-crossing, sending columns of flame down across the army. All the while, though, she was hunting single-mindedly for one man.
Ra.
Kyra scoured the ranks as she flew, desperate to find his golden chariot. She had a debt to settle. Her father’s blood demanded it.
Kyra flew farther and farther south, taking out legions of soldiers as Theon breathed fire. She was determined to clear a path all the way to the Bridge of Sorrows, to the very end of the land of Escalon, and to kill every last one. When she was done, she would circle back and kill whoever remained. She would attack as long as she needed to until her land was finally free again.
Kyra cut a wide swath through the army, the flames rippling down, shouts filling the air, knowing she had to reach the Bridge of Sorrows before Ra could escape. She could not leave him alive to regroup, to fight another day. If he crossed that bridge, he could rally millions more soldiers from greater Pandesia, and Escalon could be invaded once again, an endless flood invading her homeland forever. She would have to, she realized, take out the Bridge of Sorrows altogether. There was no other way. She could not leave her homeland open to be invaded once again.
Kyra flew and flew, Theos burning fire all the while, the flames roaring below, sending up clouds of smoke, until finally her heart beat faster as she spotted it in the distance: the Bridge of Sorrows. There it sat, shining in the sun, an ancient and iconic piece of architecture, crowned by the Southern Gate, built by her ancestors, rising hundreds of feet above the ocean, spanning the two continents, connecting Escalon to the mainland of Pandesia. Kyra could even see beyond it, all the way to the black Fields of Ore gleaming on the opposite side, the northernmost tip of the massive landmass of the Pandesian Empire, stretching beyond it to the end of the world.
Kyra was confused as she saw tens of thousands of Pandesian soldiers gathering before the gate. It was as if they did not want to cross—but rather to make a stand. As if they were waiting for something. And then, her heart pounded as she saw the man she had been looking for. There stood Ra, alone on the bridge, awaiting her.
Only his sorcerer, Magon, stood beside him, while assembled before him, on the mainland, were Pandesia’s elite legions.
“DOWN, THEON!”
As Kyra neared, she felt sure she was flying into a trap. Yet she would not back down for anything. On the contrary: she was determined to dismount, and to face Ra on foot, and to kill him by hand.
As she neared, close enough to see their faces, Magon raised his dark scarlet staff toward the sky. A moment later, Kyra felt a burning in her palm, and she looked down and was dismayed to watch the Staff of Truth losing its glow. Magon was somehow neutralizing its power.
At the same moment, Theon’s flames suddenly stopped, as if slamming into an invisible wall in the air, before the bridge. She saw Magon raising his arms, eyes closed, and realized he was casting some sort of spell to take away both of their powers. As if he were summoning something.
And then it came: a roar. Not just a roar, but the loudest sound she had ever heard, rumbling through the skies, piercing her ears. Kyra looked up, and saw the most frightening thing she had ever seen. Four creatures, resembling dragons but ten times the size, flew toward her. Their scales were black, their eyes, as large as she, black, too, with glowing yellow slits. Their bodies were lumpy, misshapen, and long yellow talons hung down from their feet. They came from the four corners of the sky, all converging for her. They were creatures summoned from hell.
Kyra was proud that Theon did not shrink in fear; even without his flames, he was enraged, and lunged forward to meet them in battle. These creatures, though, were too fast; barely had she spotted them when they were already upon her, reaching out with their talons for her, converging all at once.
Kyra swung the Staff of Truth—yet this time, stripped of its power, it did no good. Within moments the creatures were all on Theon, tearing at him in four directions. Kyra struggled to hold on as his body rocked wildly, Theon fighting viciously. As small as he was, he refused to go down without a fight. He snapped at their throats, slashed at their eyes. But their scales were like armor, and he hardly made a scratch.
One of them clamped down on Theon’s tail and jerked his head, and as he did, Theon was thrown through the skies. Kyra felt her stomach dropping, her world spinning out of control as Theon plummeted head over heels through the air. Kyra held on as long as she could, knowing she needed to be close to the ground before she fell.
Finally, she fell, shrieking as she descended through the air, praying she was not so high that the fall would kill her.
She hit the ground with a thud, realizing, luckily, that she had been only twenty feet above when she lost her grip. She landed on the bridge, feeling a cracking in her ribs, and she lay there, winded. A moment later Theon crashed, smashing into the ground on the far side of the bridge, desperately wounded, trying to flap his wings but unable.
The four creatures peered down and began to dive for him, to finish him off.
At the same time Kyra heard a dark chanting, and she forced herself to lift her head, and looked out to see Magon standing on the far side of the bridge, raising both arms, emitting an awful noise. As he did, Kyra sensed motion behind him, and her heart stopped to see the Fields of Ore were changing. The blackened fields were bubbling, rising up, as if the stones themselves were coming alive. She watched in horror as a sea of blackened monsters suddenly emerged from the rock, standing tall. They marched across the Fields of Ore, heading for the Bridge of Sorrows, preparing to enter Escalon. The sorcerer was raising an army of the dead.
Kyra slowly rose to her feet, her entire body aching, forcing herself up, using the Staff of Truth to prop her. She stood there and faced off against Ra, against his sorcerer, while their army of the dead approached.
Ra stepped forward and smiled.
“Finally,” he said to her, “our time has come.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Lorna watched with admiration and concern as Merk boarded the Pandesian ship and attacked its men. She watched with pride as he moved their cannon before they fired, saving Seavig, giving them the chance they needed to finish securing the chain, to close off the harbor. It was heroic and selfless, and Lorna had not realized that Merk had it in him. He had made amends, in that moment, for past wrongs, for a life poorly led. She felt true love for him.
She had wanted to join him, to be by his side, yet she could not, still busy as she was in keeping her palms to the sky, in creating the mist to obscure the Pandesian fleet. It was Merk’s fight, and he was on his own. It was his struggle for redemption.
She watched as, finally, in that last moment, he had found it. Lorna looked away as Merk was killed, encircled and stabbed by the Pandesians. She had felt it herself, in every ounce of her body, like a knife entering her own gut.
She cried out in despair.
Finished with her mist, Lorna saw that Seavig, safely in the harbor, no longer needed her. She was finally free to turn to Merk. She steered her ship for the Pandesian ship where she knew Merk lay dead. She sailed through an ocean full of Pandesian ships, many on fire all around her, others covered in mist, and others still splintering, falling apart as they sailed into the spiked chains. A sickening cracking noise filled the air, along with the screams of thousands of dying men. It was a night of hell for the Pandesians, and a night of epic victory for Escalon.
Yet
still a few ships remained, including this one on which Merk lay dead. As her boat touched its hull, Lorna ran forward, leapt into the air, and used her powers to lift herself, to bridge the ten-foot gap easily. She landed like a cat on the Pandesian ship, to the amazed stares of all the soldiers.
Lorna strutted slowly, proudly, down the center of the deck, unafraid as soldiers turned toward her and stared, unsure whether to welcome or kill her. There she was, a woman alone walking down their ship, unafraid, looking like an apparition. The soldiers stared at each other, clearly baffled, unsure what to make of her.
Finally one of them raised his sword high and charged her.
Lorna merely flicked her palm and summoned her power, and his sword stopped in mid-air. She waved her wrist, and the soldier and sword went flying sideways through the air, overboard, splashing into the waters below.
The soldiers all now charged her. They drew swords, wielded maces, came at her with everything they had. The result was the same for them all: their blows were stopped by the invisible shield she spun around herself. Flicking her wrist, she sent men flying up into the air and over the sides of the ship, into the sea.
As she walked, calm, unfazed, she created a path of destruction. Soon the ship was emptied of Pandesians, all floating in the waters below, being eaten by sharks.
Lorna looked out to the horizon and saw the remainder of the Pandesian fleet in the ocean, hundreds of ships still anchored there, able to stop themselves before reaching the spiked chains. She reached back with her palms, threw them forward, and huge, white balls of light flew through the air like boulders. They lit up the night as they flew far out to sea, finally landing in the waters with a great crash.
Enormous waves arose and lifted the remaining Pandesian ships, sending them surging toward the harbor, toward Seavig’s spiked chains. Whatever ships had survived were soon destroyed.
Lorna breathed easy for the first time. The sea was finally free of Pandesian ships.
Lorna hurried to the bow, finally reaching Merk, kneeling by his side. There he lay, prone, eyes open wide to the sky. Frozen.
Dead.
Blood leaked from the wound in his stomach, and her heart broke at the sight of him. This scarred man, who had managed to redeem himself, to become a fine man in the final moments of his life, now lay there, dead before his time. It was as if his true personality had always been waiting for its chance to emerge.
“Merk,” she said softly, crying.
Lorna placed one hand on his stomach, and the other over his eyes, closing them. She felt a tremendous heat burning in her palms, and as she closed her eyes, she could feel his spirit leaving him, hovering, overlooking them both.
“Stay here with me,” she said to his spirit. “Let us start a new life together. I am ready now. And I am not ready to lose you.”
Lorna closed her eyes and began to feel Merk’s energy coursing through her with fervor. She could feel Merk’s soul struggling, debating if he wanted to stay. He was a tired soul, one who had lived a life of anguish, and his spirit hovered in the balance. It was a decision only he could make.
She watched his eyes flutter, hoping they would open. She had no idea if they would.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Alec sprinted across the peninsula of Ur, the Unfinished Sword urging him on, showing him which way to go. He knew he was running headlong into danger, and he did not care. He felt his destiny before him, the destiny of Escalon hanging in the balance, and today was the day, he knew, that would define his life.
Seeing Dierdre back there, together with his best friend, Marco, had done something to him. In some ways, it had made him lose his will to live. Though he barely knew her, he had loved Dierdre more than he could say, more than he had ever loved anyone, more than he had even realized until now. He had loved Marco as a friend, too. Seeing the two of them together, seeing how much they loved each other, was like a double knife in his heart. He had thought all this time that when he returned to her, she would be awaiting him. No matter what happened to him, it was all going to be worth it as long as he was reunited with her again.
But seeing that she no longer loved him, it robbed him of his will to live.
Alec sprinted across the barren, windswept peninsula, running for the mountain of rubble in the distance that was once the Tower of Ur. He looked out and saw Alva in the distance, holding out his staff, creating a fissure in the earth in which hundreds of vicious trolls fell. Yet he also saw dozens more trolls breaking through, charging the rubble—and atop it, he saw a lone figure, a man he immediately recognized as Kolva, fighting them all off heroically. The Unfinished Sword hummed in his hand, and Alec knew immediately that that was where he was needed.
Kolva stood atop the rubble, swinging his staff, knocking out trolls two, three, four at a time, while Leo snarled viciously at his feet, and Andor trampled trolls behind him, all of them tearing apart trolls on all sides. Alec could not understand what he was doing there. It was as if he were guarding the pile of rubble. Was this where Alec was meant to go?
Despite his confusion, Alec let the sword lead him; it practically pulled him and he ran by and in a blur he saw the chaos all around him, saw thousands of trolls pouring in every second. He saw Alva’s arms shaking as he held his staff, barely able to hold his fissure any longer. He saw trees dropped, bridges erected, the fissure overrun by more and more trolls. Soon, he could tell, Alva and Kolva, the last thing keeping the trolls at bay, would be overrun for good.
Alec ran for the rubble, so close now—when suddenly he felt a yank, and felt a surge of pain as his arm was clawed. He cried out and spun to find a grotesque troll bearing down on him. Without thinking, Alec spun and slashed the troll across the chest, letting the sword lead him, then drove it into his heart, killing him. The sword cut through him as if he weren’t even there.
Another troll lunged for Alec from the other direction, and he ducked, letting it fly over him, then slashed its back, killing it.
Alec ran, breathing hard, stumbling over the mounds of rubble, dodging trolls, until finally he was at Kolva’s side. He fought back to back with him, each slashing back trolls, Alec with his sword, Kolva with his staff.
Kolva glanced down at the weapon in Alec’s hand. His eyes widened with reverence.
“The sword,” he gasped.
Alec looked back, wondering.
“You know where it belongs?” Alec asked.
“The secret chamber,” Kolva replied. “Deep beneath the earth. Kyle awaits you below. You must go now. Hurry!”
As Kolva uttered the words, Alec immediately knew them to be true, and his mission snapped into focus. He looked down at the pile of rubble beneath his feet, and he saw the opening not far away, leading down into the earth. It was the final resting place of the Sword. And the only way, he realized, to save Escalon.
Alec prepared to go, but Kolva reached out and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. He gave him a somber look.
“The chamber,” he said, “when you restore the sword, it will swallow it whole. And you with it. Whatever’s left of this tower will be no more. There will be no return.”
Alec stood there, pondering Kyle’s words. The ultimate sacrifice, he realized, was not only returning the sword, but sacrificing himself. A quest awaited him, and it was a quest for martyrs. One for the man who was willing to end his life for the sake of Escalon.
As Alec felt the sword hum in his hand, he knew what he had to do.
“Then time is short,” he replied.
With those words, Alec ran and leapt through the hole.
His stomach dropped as he plummeted into a world of blackness. He landed hard, stumbled, found his feet, and immediately set off at a run in the darkness, his way lit only by a distant torch. He followed a maze of corridors, allowing the sword to lead him, until finally he reached the end, an open, glowing door before him.
And before it, a single figure.
Kyle.
Kyle turned and looked at him,
awe in his face.
“The ancient chamber,” Kyle breathed.
Alec felt the sword burning, red-hot, in his palms, and he knew.
“This is my mission now,” Alec said. “You have done your job well. Surface. And serve Escalon as best you can.”
Kyle stared back, concern and admiration in his face. He stepped forward and they clasped arms solemnly.
“Escalon shall always remember you,” Kyle said.
And with that, he turned and hurried back through the corridors, leaving Alec utterly alone.
Alec knew he was meant to be here, and knew he was meant to be alone. His breathing shallow, he stepped into the chamber, knowing this would be the last room he ever stepped in.
The chamber was bright, aglow with torches, and as he entered, the sword was positively vibrating in his hand. This place, the absolute silence, the stillness in the air, felt sacrosanct. He stepped in deeper and looked around. In the center was a round, granite altar. And in its very center was a slit, a scabbard embedded in the stone. It was the same size and shape of the sword. He knew at once that that was where the sword was meant to live. Forever. It would finish the sword. And it would finish Escalon.
Alec stepped forward, his heart pounding, knowing these were his final moments alive. He felt a great sense of tragedy, of sadness—yet also of purpose, of honor. Hearing the shouts above, he knew it was time. Time to end this war. To restore the Flames. To send the trolls back to Marda. Forever.
Alec stepped close and uttered his final words.
“Dierdre,” he said. “I love you.”
Alec raised the sword high with both hands and plunged it down into the slit in the earth.
The sword turn red-hot, aglow, and Alec stepped away, its power too intense. Flames shot up from the rock, there came the sound of stone scraping stone, and suddenly, the entire world began to quake.
Rubble began collapsing all around him. And his final thought, as his world turned black, as massive boulders collapsed atop him, was: Escalon, I have served you.