Rise of the Valiant (3 page)

Kyra walked
slowly back through the gates of Argos, the eyes of all her father’s men upon
her, and she burned with shame. She had misread her relationship with Theos.
She had thought, stupidly, that she could control him—and instead, he had
spurned her before all these men. For the eyes of all to see, she was
powerless, had no dominion over a dragon. She was just another warrior—not even
a warrior, but just a teenage girl who had led her people into a war they,
abandoned by a dragon, could no longer win.

Kyra walked back
through the gates of Argos, feeling the eyes on her in the awkward silence.
What did they think of her now? she wondered. She did not even know what to
think of herself. Had Theos not come for her? Had he only fought this battle
for his own ends? Did she have any special powers at all?

Kyra was
relieved as the men finally looked away, returned to their looting, all busy
gathering weaponry, preparing for war. They rushed to and fro, gathering all
the bounty left behind by the Lord’s Men, filling carts, leading away horses,
the clang of steel ever present as shields and armor were tossed into piles by
the handful. As more snow fell and the sky began to darken, they all had little
time to lose.

“Kyra,” came a
familiar voice.

She turned and
was relieved to see Anvin’s smiling face as he approached her. He looked at her
with respect, with the reassuring kindness and warmth of the father figure he
had always been. He draped one arm affectionately around her shoulder, smiling
wide beneath his beard, and he held out before her a gleaming new sword, its
blade etched with Pandesian symbols.

“Finest steel
I’ve held in years,” he noted with a broad grin. “Thanks to you, we have enough
weapons here to start a war. You have made us all more formidable.”

Kyra took
comfort in his words, as she always did; yet she still could not cast off her
feeling of depression, of confusion, of being spurned by the dragon. She
shrugged.

“I did not do
all this,” she replied. “Theos did.”

“Yet Theos
returned for
you
,” he replied.

Kyra glanced up
at the gray skies, now empty, and she wondered.

“I’m not so
sure.”

They both
studied the skies in the long silence that followed, broken only by the wind
sweeping through.

“Your father
awaits you,” Anvin finally said, his voice serious.

Kyra joined
Anvin as they walked, snow and ice crunching beneath their boots, winding their
way through the courtyard amidst all the activity. They passed dozens of her
father’s men as they trekked through the sprawling fort of Argos, men
everywhere, finally relaxed for the first time in ages. She saw them laughing,
drinking, jostling each other as they gathered weapons and provisions. They
were like children on All Hallow’s Day.

Dozens more of
her father’s men stood in a line and passed sacks of Pandesian grain, handing
them to each other as they piled carts high; another cart clambered by,
overflowing with shields that clanked as it went. It was stacked so high that a
few fell over the side, soldiers scrambling to gather them back in. All around
her carts were heading out of the fort, some on the road back to Volis, others
forking off on different roads to places her father had directed, all filled to
the brim. Kyra took some solace in the sight, feeling less bad for the war she
had instigated.

They turned a
corner and Kyra spotted her father, surrounded by his men, busy inspecting
dozens of swords and spears as they held them out for his approval. He turned
at her approach and as he gestured to his men, they dispersed, leaving them
alone.

Her father
turned and looked at Anvin, and Anvin stood there for a moment, unsure,
seemingly surprised at her father’s silent look, clearly asking him to leave,
too. Finally, Anvin turned and joined the others, leaving Kyra alone with him.
She was surprised, too—he never asked Anvin to leave before.

Kyra looked up
at him, his expression inscrutable as always, wearing the distant, public face
of a leader among men, not the intimate face of the father she knew and loved.
He looked down at her, and she felt nervous as so many thoughts raced through
her head at once: was he proud of her? Was he upset that she had led them into
this war? Was he disappointed that Theos had spurned her and abandoned his
army?

Kyra waited,
accustomed to his long silence before speaking, and she could not tell anymore;
too much had changed between them too fast. She felt as if she had grown up
overnight, while he had been changed by recent events; it was as if they no
longer knew how to relate to each other. Was he the father she had always known
and loved, who would read her stories late into the night? Or was he her
commander now?

He stood there,
staring, and she realized that he did not know what to say as the silence hung
heavy between them, the only sound that of the wind whipping through, the
torches flickering behind them as men began to light them to ward off night.
Finally, Kyra could stand the silence no longer.

“Will you bring
all this back to Volis?” she asked, as a cart rattled by filled with swords.

He turned and
examined the cart and seemed to snap out of his reverie. He didn’t look back at
Kyra, but rather watched the cart as he shook his head.

“Volis holds nothing
for us now but death,” he said, his voice deep and definitive. “We head south
now.”

Kyra was
surprised.

“South?” she
asked.

He nodded.

“Espehus,” he
stated.

Kyra’s heart
flooded with excitement as she pictured their journey to Espehus, the ancient
stronghold perched on the sea, their biggest neighbor to the south. She became
even more excited as she realized—if he was going there it could only mean one
thing: he was preparing for war.

He nodded, as if
reading her mind.

“There is no
turning back now,” he said.

Kyra looked back
at her father with a sense of pride she had not felt in years. He was no longer
the complacent warrior, living his middle years in the security of a small
fort—but now the bold commander she once knew, willing to risk it all for freedom.

“When do we
leave?” she asked, her heart pounding, anticipating her first battle.

She was
surprised to see him shake his head.

“Not we,” he
corrected. “I and my men. Not you.”

Kyra was
crestfallen, his words like a dagger in her heart.

“Would you leave
me behind?” she asked, stammering. “After all that has happened? What else must
I do to prove myself to you?”

He shook his
head firmly, and she was devastated to see the hardened look in his eyes, a
look which she knew meant he would not bend.

“You shall go to
your uncle,” he said. It was a command, not a request, and with those words she
knew where she stood: she was his soldier now, not his daughter. It hurt her.

Kyra breathed
deep—she would not give in so quickly.

“I want to fight
alongside you,” she insisted. “I can help you.”

“You
will
be helping me,” he said, “by going where you’re needed. I need you with him.”

She furrowed her
brow, trying to understand.

“But why?” she
asked.

He was silent
for a long time, until he finally sighed.

“You possess…” he
began, “…
skills
I do not understand. Skills that we will need to win
this war. Skills that only your uncle will know how to foster.”

He reached out
and held her shoulder meaningfully.

“If you want to
help us,” he added, “if you want to help our people, that is where you are
needed. I don’t need another soldier—I need the unique talents you have to
offer. The skills that no one else has.”

She saw the
earnestness in his eyes, and while she felt awful at the prospect of being
unable to join him, she felt some reassurance in his words—along with a
heightened sense of curiosity. She wondered what skills he was referring to,
and wondered who her uncle might be.

“Go and learn
what I cannot teach you,” he added. “Come back stronger. And help me win.”

Kyra looked into
his eyes, and she felt the respect, the warmth returning, and she began to feel
restored again.

“Ur is a long
journey,” he added. “A good three-day ride west and north. You will have to
cross Escalon alone. You will have to ride quickly, by stealth, and avoid the
roads. Word will soon spread of what has happened here—and Pandesian lords will
be wrathful. The roads will be dangerous—you will stick to the woods. Ride
north, find the sea, and keep it in view. It shall be your compass. Follow its
coastline, and you will find Ur. Stay away from villages, stay away from
people. Do not stop. Tell no one where you are going. Speak to no one.”

He grabbed her
shoulders firmly and his eyes darkened with urgency, scaring her.

“Do you
understand me?” he implored. “It is a dangerous journey for any man—much less
for a girl alone. I can spare no one to accompany you. I need you to be strong
enough to do this alone. Are you?”

She could hear
the fear in his voice, the love of a concerned father torn, and she nodded
back, feeling pride that he would trust her with such a quest.

“I am, Father,”
she said proudly.

He studied her,
then finally nodded, as if satisfied. Slowly, his eyes welled with tears.

“Of all my men,”
he said, “of all these warriors, you are the one I need the most. Not your
brothers, and not even my trusted soldiers.
You
are the one, the only
one, who can win this war.”

Kyra felt
confused and overwhelmed; she did not fully understand what he meant. She
opened her mouth to ask him—when suddenly she sensed motion approaching.

She turned to
see Baylor, her father’s master of horse, approaching with his usual smile. A
short, overweight man with thick eyebrows and stringy hair, he approached them
with his customary swagger and smiled at her, then looked to her father, as if
awaiting his approval.

Her father
nodded to him, and Kyra wondered what was going on, as Baylor turned to her.

“I’m told you’ll
be taking a journey,” Baylor said, his voice nasal. “For that, you’ll need a
horse.”

Kyra frowned,
confused.

“I have a
horse,” she replied, looking over at the fine horse she’d ridden during the
battle with the Lord’s Men, tied up across the courtyard.

Baylor smiled.

“That’s not a
horse,” he said.

Baylor looked to
her father and her father nodded, and Kyra tried to understand what was
happening.

“Follow me,” he
said, and without waiting, he suddenly turned and strode off for the stables.

Kyra watched him
go, confused, then looked to her dad. He nodded back.

“Follow him,” he
said. “You won’t regret it.”

*

Kyra crossed the
snowy courtyard with Baylor, joined by Anvin, Arthfael and Vidar, heading
eagerly toward the low, stone stables in the distance. As she went, Kyra
wondered what Baylor had meant, wondered what horse he had in mind for her. In
her mind, one horse was not much different from another.

As they
approached the sprawling stone stable, at least a hundred yards long, Baylor
turned to her, eyes widening in delight.

“Our Lord’s
daughter will need a fine horse to take her wherever it is she is going.”

Kyra’s heart
quickened; she had never been given a horse from Baylor before, an honor
usually reserved only for distinguished warriors. She’d always dreamed of
having one when she was old enough, and when she had earned it. It was an honor
that even her older brothers did not enjoy.

Anvin nodded
proudly.

“You have earned
it,” he said.

“If you can
handle a dragon,” Arthfael added with a smile, “you can most certainly handle a
master horse.”

As the stables
loomed, a small crowd began to gather, joining them as they walked, the men
taking a break from their gathering of weapons, clearly curious to see where
she was being led. Her two older brothers, Brandon and Braxton, joined them,
too, glancing over at Kyra wordlessly, jealousy in their eyes. They looked away
quickly, too proud, as usual, to acknowledge her, much less offer her any
praise. She, sadly, expected nothing else of them.

Kyra heard
footsteps and looked over, pleased to see her friend Dierdre joining her, too.

“I hear you’re
leaving,” Dierdre said as she fell in beside her.

Kyra walked
beside her new friend, comforted by her presence. She thought back to their
time together in the governor’s cell, all the suffering they had endured,
escaping, and she felt an instant bond with her. Dierdre had gone through an
even worse hell than she had, and as she studied her, black rings beneath her
eyes, an aura of suffering and sadness still lingering about her, she wondered
what would become of her. She could not just leave her alone in this fort, she
realized. With the army heading south, Dierdre would be left alone.