The Rock of Ivanore (27 page)

Marcus waved his sword over his head. “Jayson! Jayson, it's me, Marcus!” he shouted. At that moment, a sharp pain tore through Marcus's right shoulder. Then the cold point of a dagger was pressed against his throat. A hoarse voice whispered in his ear.

“So we meet again, Marcus!”

Arik! A terrible dread filled Marcus as he realized that the blood dripping from the blade at his throat was his own, and the pain in his shoulder was from the wound it had left behind. Arik wrenched the sword from Marcus's hand and threw it aside, then pressed the dagger deeper into his esophagus.

“Jayson!” shouted Arik. “I have the boy!”

Jayson finished off two more Hestorians and then advanced toward Arik. His eyes were set like steel, but Arik pulled back on Marcus's shoulder. Marcus screamed out in pain. Jayson stopped abruptly.

“Let him go!” demanded Jayson. “The boy means nothing to you!”

“Nothing? He killed my Mardoks and nearly killed me! For that reason alone I would take great pleasure in disemboweling him. Yet seeing how you've taken quite a fancy to each other, as long as he lives,” Arik snarled, “I have some influence over
you
!”

Jayson's expression revealed no emotion. His jaw was set and his eyes were fixed on Arik. He said nothing but took one threatening step toward his enemy.

Arik shouted like a rabid animal. “I will kill him! I swear it!”

“What do you want from me, Arik?”

“Only what is rightfully mine! Imaness is home to the only known deposit of Celestine. Once I possess it, I will control the rarest and costliest treasure in this part of the world.”

“Even if you do take the Celestine, who will mine it for you?” said Jayson. “The Agorans are no longer slaves. They fight for their freedom even now.”

“Call them back!” demanded Arik. “Stop this battle and command your slaves back to the mines, or I will drench the ground with this boy's blood!”

“I can't let you take the mine.”

Arik's grip on Marcus tightened. “I would have shared my riches with you, but you betrayed me!”

“
I
betrayed
you
?” said Jayson, his eyes burning with both grief and rage. “You robbed me of the only possession that has any value to me at all. I know the truth, Arik! You betrayed your own sister! It is because of you that she is gone!”

Jayson took the parchment scroll from beneath his cloak and tossed it on the ground at Arik's feet. “Take it, then, if paper, ink, and jewels mean so much to you. And take this as well!”

He reached into his leather pouch and held up a dry, shriveled human ear. “Do you remember how you lost it, Arik? Do you remember how I severed it from your head with this very blade? Let the boy go, or I will have no
choice but to do the same to the rest of you,” said Jayson, throwing the ear down beside the map.

Arik's very frame trembled from anger, the hatred in him surging like a tempest. Marcus's head grew light. He wanted to vomit. The pain in his shoulder throbbed, and he felt the warmth of his blood oozing down his back. He tried to keep his eyes focused, but the scene before him melted into a blur of color and shadow. Then there was only darkness.

rik teetered off balance as Marcus's limp body fell against him. In that split second, Jayson was upon him. He attacked Arik with a barrage of powerful blows, wounding him in the arm and chest. Arik shoved Marcus aside and ran, snatching a sword from a fallen soldier as he went.

Jayson pursued Arik, and their conflict continued across the town square toward the perimeter of Dokur. Each man, spurred on by his hatred of the other, struggled to get the upper hand. As they neared the edge of the plateau above the road, Arik began to show signs of weakness. Finally, his energy spent, Arik dropped to his knees and threw his sword over the cliff.

“I concede,” he said, his chest heaving. “I am mortally wounded. Let me die with what dignity I have remaining.”

Jayson thrust the point of his sword against Arik's abdomen. “Dignity? What dignity is there in plotting to invade your own homeland and to slaughter your own people?”

“My father's people!” said Arik, the words spewing from his mouth like venom. “Dokur's beloved Fredric is content to squander my inheritance! I was his heir until Ivanore bore a son. As a woman, Ivanore could never rule. But her son! Yes, I betrayed you. My jealousy drove me to it. I thought I would gain my father's favor. How was I to know that Fredric would kill the child?”

Arik raised his hands to his face as if to hide from the shame he felt. “I tried to stop him,” he continued, his voice breaking. “But in his rage, he exiled me and stripped me of my inheritance.”

Jayson's heart ached inside him. The anger that had consumed him moments before turned to compassion. “The child is not dead,” he said, lowering his sword. “Ivanore took him away. I don't know where he is now, but I believe he is alive. Come with me and make amends with your father.”

The effort was painful, but Arik rose to one knee. As Jayson reached out his hand to help him, a single arrow suddenly pierced Arik's chest. He collapsed into Jayson's arms. Jayson turned to identify the culprit but saw only the crowd of battling soldiers.

Jayson looked back at Arik, whose breath now came in short, painful snatches. “Do you think . . . Fredric . . .” Arik's words were broken as his body convulsed. He struggled to continue. “Will my father . . . forgive me?”

Jayson nodded. He tried to utter the words he felt in his heart, but the tightness in his throat and chest prevented him from speaking. He nodded again, and Arik smiled slightly. As the life ebbed out of him, Arik's eyes flickered and then shut forever.

*   *   *

The arrows in Clovis's quiver were nearly gone. With them he had wounded seven Hestorian soldiers. Tristan had wounded four with his sword and received two shallow wounds of his own. They had found shelter behind the city's fountain while Kaië saw to Tristan's injuries.

Zody knelt beside Tristan, offering words of encouragement. “Can't be all that bad,” he said. “They're just flesh wounds. Your arm will heal soon enough.”

“Easy for you to say!” snapped Tristan, clenching his teeth while Kaië tied a strip of cloth just above his elbow. “You've managed quite well to stay clear of danger.”

“I was never very good with a sword,” said Zody, examining the clean blade he held in his hand.

Just then Clovis cried out. “Look over there! It's Jayson and Arik!”

He pointed toward the entrance to the city, where Jayson stood holding a sword to Arik's chest. To their
astonishment, however, Jayson did not kill Arik but lowered his sword, offering his hand to help the other man up. Suddenly, mere yards from where the boys sat watching, a lone archer turned and fired an arrow straight through Arik's heart.

“Did you see that?” said Clovis. “That guard just killed Arik!”

“He had it coming,” said Zody.

Before Jayson could even turn around, the archer drew another arrow, aiming it right at Jayson's back.

“He's going to kill Jayson!” shouted Clovis.

“Clovis, your bow!” said Tristan.

Clovis began wheezing heavily. “I've only got one arrow left—and it's broken!”

Kaië grabbed Zody by his shirtsleeve and pulled him to his feet. “Go!” she told him. “You're the only one with a sword in your hand, so go! Go now!”

Zody leapt to his feet and threw himself across the space that separated him from Jayson's attacker. There wasn't a moment to hesitate or to think. In half a second, Zody's sword came down on the archer's forearm. The man screamed out in pain as his arrow shot wide. The culprit turned and ran, blending into the crowd of battling soldiers.

Another second later, Zody once again dropped down beside Tristan, gasping for breath. Kaië squeezed his hand. Clovis patted him on the shoulder.

“I did it! I can't believe I actually did it,” said Zody, smiling proudly at his companions. “You know, saving
someone's life feels pretty good. I'll have to try it again sometime.”

*   *   *

Jayson rose from Arik's lifeless body and turned back toward Dokur. The scene before him filled him with sorrow, for many of his Agoran brethren lay wounded on the battlefield, far more than the number of Hestorians. The dragons, not content to set buildings and ships ablaze, had taken to scavenging upon the bodies of the dead and dying. It was a gruesome sight. Though the war waged on, Jayson could see the fear and desperation in the Agorans' eyes.

Not far off, Nathar, the Agoran slave, was engaged in combat with a heavily armored enemy. Wounded and weak, Nathar barely had strength to withstand the blows. Jayson ran to his aid, but he was too late. With one last strike, the Hestorian gained the final victory. Within moments a hungry dragon lumbered across the battlefield, its bloodstained talons leaving gaping holes in the earth as it came. From the depths of Jayson's soul, a roar erupted. He ran toward his fallen comrade and threw himself before the beast.

“Get away!” he shouted with inhuman fury. “Get away from him!”

The dragon reared its head, unleashing a spray of sparks that fell around the Agoran warrior like an umbrella of fire. Jayson sprinted forward and lodged his sword in
the beast's throat. The dragon screeched in pain and then slashed at its attacker with a full set of razor-sharp talons. Jayson managed to jump free from the blow, but without a weapon, he was no match for the wounded dragon. The dragon beat its wings furiously as it worked the sword loose from its own throat and then crushed it between its massive teeth. It started toward Jayson, but then the dragon screeched again. A large tear appeared in its right wing. The glint of a sword slashed through the air and another tear appeared. The dragon tucked its wounded wing beneath its body. Behind it, Marcus held Xerxes' blade in a feeble grip.

As the dragon retreated, Marcus's legs buckled beneath him. Jayson ran forward and caught him as he fell. He set Marcus gently on the ground and covered him with his cloak.

“Despite all my efforts to free my people,” said Jayson as tears threatened to fall, “I have instead led them straight to hell. Maybe it would have been better to live as slaves than to die like this.”

Marcus shivered and drew up Jayson's cloak to his chin. “You're wrong,” he said. “Some things are worth dying for.”

Jayson was about to reply, but he realized that Marcus had once again slipped into unconsciousness. He turned again to Nathar. To his relief, the wounded Agoran was breathing. It was then that Jayson noticed what was clutched in Nathar's fingers: the banner bearing Fredric's royal seal. Though soiled and torn, the words he had written
there were still legible. He carefully pulled the fabric free. Then he strode across the battlefield to the great fountain at the town center. Climbing to the highest point he could reach, he took up the banner and raised it above his head, shouting for all to hear. “For our families, our land, and our liberty!”

On hearing Jayson's words and seeing the banner raised, the Agorans' determination was renewed. Though they might all die that day, it would be for a just cause. They would die for those things most dear to them. Theirs would be a worthy sacrifice, indeed.

The ground beneath Jayson's feet began to tremble. Thunder sounded, or something that sounded like thunder. In reality it was the sound of giant footsteps. Jayson hurried to the edge of the plateau and saw more than a dozen Cyclopes running across the valley. Once they reached the road leading to the city, they ascended it in a matter of seconds. Without hesitation, they joined the Agorans in battle.

When Breah saw Jayson, he bent down for his customary rub behind the ears. Vos stood nearby, as well.

“Are we too late?” Vos asked.

“You're just in time,” replied Jayson. “But how did you know to come? At the lake I dared not ask you to fight.”

“Let us say a boy who didn't want to become my supper said you might be in trouble.”

“Your supper? But Cyclopes are vegetarians.”

“Yes,” replied Vos, laughing. “But the boy didn't know that.”