The Rock of Ivanore (25 page)

“I have a weapon.” Clovis proudly held up his crossbow. “I'll go with Kaië.”

Zody laughed. “Are you any good with it?”

“Well, no but—”

Tristan held out his hand. “Let me take the crossbow,” he said. “You stay here with Zody.”

Clovis hesitated. Then he held the weapon close to his chest. “No,” he said. “I want to fight.”

“Fine. I'll go with you,” Tristan said, following Kaië and Clovis down the hill. Zody stood at the mouth of the tunnel, astounded at Tristan's audacity.

“What are you doing?” he shouted. “I told you, you don't have a weapon!”

“I'll find one!” Tristan called back.

Zody paced back and forth in the tunnel. If he stayed, he'd be safe. But what if everyone else died and no one knew where to find him? If he went with Tristan, he'd get killed for sure, but then again, maybe not. He juggled these thoughts for several moments. Finally he made a decision. “Wait up! I'm coming with you!” he said and then added under his breath, “I really hate dragons!”

he door at the top of the tower stairs creaked as Marcus pushed it open. He stepped into a bare round room with a wooden floor. To his right, a window opened to the sea. To his left, a rope ladder hung against the wall, leading to a framework of rafters above. Arik stood in the center of the room, his hair disheveled, his cloak torn. A gash on his upper arm bled profusely. His cloak concealed his other arm.

“You've arrived in the nick of time,” he said, his lips thinning into a cynical grin. “A moment later and I may very well have done something I might regret.”

Arik pulled his cloak away. Beneath it, clasped in the bend of his elbow, was Kelvin. Arik held him around the neck so that he could not speak and struggled to breathe.

“Let him go!” shouted Marcus through clenched teeth. Anger burned within him. “I said let him go!”

Arik laughed.

“You are fierce for one so young,” he said. “I suppose you want to kill me. It won't matter if you do. If you look out that window there, you will see the fleet of Dokur in ruins, while my men row to shore in skiffs I designed to withstand the treacherous tides of Imaness. And even if they are unsuccessful, my dragons—trained for war from the time they were hatchlings—cannot be defeated. So kill me if you like, but Dokur is doomed.”

The sight of Dokur's incinerated navy and the countless skiffs carrying enemy soldiers rowing across the harbor struck Marcus through his very heart. The enemy seemed numberless. Jayson would never arrive in time.

“I know who you are!” said Marcus. “I know how you betrayed Jayson and Ivanore. And now you betray your own father!”

Arik laughed menacingly. “Is that what Jayson told you? Did he tell you of his own treachery? How he broke the law by marrying my sister? Did he tell you how I got
this
?”

Arik turned his face aside, and Marcus winced at the sight of the ugly, pulsating scar.

“You've won, Arik,” said Marcus. “Dokur is as good as fallen. As for Kelvin, you don't need him. Release him, and I vow to leave you in peace.”

“Release him?
Release him
?” Arik tightened his grip on Kelvin's neck. “This
child
has wounded me with this pitiful
little dagger,” he said, holding Kelvin's dagger in his hand. “I was just about to break his neck when you so rudely interrupted me.”

Marcus didn't think. Roaring with rage, he plunged forward with his sword pointed straight ahead of him. Arik warded the attack by twisting his body to the left and flinging Marcus aside. Though his initial attack failed, Marcus's sudden advance distracted Arik long enough for Kelvin to break free. Seeing that he was now outnumbered, Arik scurried up the rope ladder and disappeared into the web of timbers above.

Kelvin knelt on the floor, rubbing his throat with his hands. “Will you go after him or shall I?” he croaked, but Marcus had already leapt off the top rung and into the rafters.

The uppermost area of the tower was bathed in shadow. A cone-shaped slate roof rose high overhead, letting in no light. The only illumination ascended through the crisscross of beams, creating an eerie illusion of layered shadows.

Marcus balanced on a twelve-inch beam that spanned the width of the room below. More beams crossed above his head, supporting the roof. One beam sloped low enough for him to grab hold of and steady himself as he inched his way across. Somewhere, in one of the deep pockets of blackness, Arik waited for him.

The air was stifling. Marcus's skin tingled, and the moisture that formed on his body dampened his clothes. The cramped darkness filled him with dread, and though
he struggled to keep his memories in check, images from his dreams flooded his mind. Once again he heard the warboar of his childhood breathing in his ears. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back the fear that threatened to overwhelm him.

Marcus opened his eyes wide and scanned the darkness for signs of movement. He wiped the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath to calm himself. His lungs burned from the suffocating dust that blurred the air like a haze. The sound of air rushing in and out of them seemed as loud as the waves crashing against the shore outside. In and out, the rhythm steady as a drum. In and out. In and out. Marcus caught his breath and held it, yet the rhythm of someone else's breathing echoed in his ears.

Marcus spun around, and his blade clashed against Arik's dagger, halting a deadly blow from behind. The force of the blow knocked Marcus off balance. He fell, grasping the beam with his arms as his sword clattered to the floor below.

“What a predicament!” said Arik, amused. “I suppose you expect me to toy with you now, or to do the gentlemanly thing and pull you up so we can continue this farce.” He placed the toe of his boot over Marcus's fingers. A sharp pain shot through his hand and he screamed out. “I hate to disappoint you,” continued Arik, “but I don't like playing games.”

Arik raised the dagger, point down, above Marcus's head. Suddenly Arik shot forward, as though some abrupt force had collided with him from behind. His face smashed
into the beam as he fell. Holding onto him was Kelvin. The two of them hit the floor below with a sickening thud. And then there was silence mingled with the sounds of the sea crashing against the cliffs below.

arcus swung his leg over the rafter and pulled himself up. He made his way as quickly as safety would allow to the ladder and hurried down it. He ran to the tangled mass that was Arik and Kelvin. Arik lay unconscious. Kelvin was alive, though his breathing was sporadic and labored.

“Kelvin, are you all right?” asked Marcus, tenderly pressing here and there on Kelvin's body to assess the damage.

“It's hard to breathe,” Kelvin whispered.

“You've broken some ribs.” Marcus tried to sound encouraging. “I'll bind them for you. In a few weeks you'll be as good as new.”

“No.” Kelvin's voice was weak but resolute. “I'm not going to make it, Marcus.”

“I'll find a doctor.”

“There isn't time.” Kelvin wheezed. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His body convulsed, and Marcus's throat went dry.

“I'll hurry,” said Marcus, steadying the waver in his voice.

Kelvin shook his head. “I don't want to die in here.” Marcus needed help. He quickly gathered up his sword and sheathed it. Xerxes immediately came to life.

“What's happened?” he asked, seeing Kelvin and Arik lying on the floor.

“Kelvin is injured,” Marcus explained as he tried to lift his friend. “I've got to help him, but without the key, what can I do?”

For the first time, Xerxes had no words to offer. He looked at Marcus with empathy. “You will find a way. I have confidence in you,” he said and then went silent.

Marcus did not know the source of the strength that sprang up within him, but as he bore the weight of Kelvin's body on his back, he knew that if necessary, he could carry him all the way to Quendel.

The sun had begun its gradual descent by the time they stepped out of the tower. In the slowly fading light of day, the fate of Dokur was clear. The boats had landed. The enemy had come ashore.

estoria's flag was already planted on the shore when Marcus emerged from the watchtower. The dragon's black wing on a background of blue flapped wildly in the wind. The air swarmed with dragons heaving breaths of fire on the remains of the crippled navy. Russet-skinned Hestorian soldiers, hundreds of them, were gathered in battalions along the beach below the Fortress. Hundreds more still waited offshore in their boats. Each of them held a diamond-shaped shield in one hand and a short, curved scimitar in the other. In their glinting armor, which covered their chests, arms, backs, and heads, they seemed invincible.

With Kelvin's now-unconscious body slung across his back, Marcus slipped behind the tower and made his way
up the steep hill to the far wall of the Fortress. His progress was slow, however, as Kelvin was taller and broader than he, and Marcus had to stop frequently to shift Kelvin's weight to his shoulders. When the burden became almost unbearable, he would again let Kelvin slide a few inches down his back. After only a few minutes, a sharp pain radiated from the base of Marcus's neck all the way down to his ankles. But he ignored it and continued placing one foot in front of the other. After what seemed like hours, he felt the ground level off beneath his feet. He was on the far side of the Fortress. On the other side was the hill and the secret tunnel. Beyond that was Dokur.

Making his way through a dense row of trees, Marcus soon found himself at the edge of a clearing. He laid Kelvin beneath one of the trees. Kelvin was breathing, but his face was pale.

“I don't know what to do,” Marcus told him, even though Kelvin hadn't moved or spoken since they left the tower. “I have to go for help.”

Marcus removed his cape and tucked it over his friend, making sure that he was warm and well hidden. Then, drawing his sword once more and leaving Xerxes' empty sheath beside Kelvin, he struck out for Dokur.

Doing his best to keep out of the dragons' sight, he made his way around the southern gate. The guards that had been there earlier were nowhere to be found. He imagined Lord Fredric had gathered what forces he could to hold off the Hestorians until the Agorans arrived.