The Weight of Honor (20 page)

Kyra stared back at the boy’s face, mesmerized, the face from which she could not look away. She felt lost in his crystal blue eyes, the long, light blond hair framing it, the perfect chiseled features, the boy not entirely of this world, staring back as if he had known her forever. She felt those eyes penetrating her soul, felt the earth shifting beneath her, and she looked down to see that she was floating at sea, standing on a wide raft, the boy standing on the other end. She couldn’t understand what was happening, where she was, where they were floating to. But she knew they were floating together, the two of them in the midst of a vast sea, with nothing but each other.

“Kyra,” he said.

 His voice penetrated her heart, a voice which she somehow recognized, a voice she knew she had always been longing to hear.

“Who are you?” she asked, breathless.

He stared back, expressionless, the intensity in his gaze overwhelming her as he held out a single hand. He reached for her face, and more than anything, she craved for that hand to touch her face, yearned to feel the touch of his fingertips on her skin.

But suddenly, he fell backwards, straight into the water, stiff as a board, landing with a quiet splash and disappearing beneath the waves.

She rushed forward, horrified.

“No!” she cried.

She dove into the water to save him—yet no sooner had she jumped when she felt claws on her back, grabbing her shirt, hoisting her into the air. She heard a screech behind her, and suddenly, she was flying, being carried, she realized, by something greater than herself.

Kyra glanced up, and her heart quickened to see Theos above her, holding her as he flew, his great wings flapping. He flew her over the sea, and as she looked down, she was shocked to see a sea of black. Beneath her was a fleet of ships, greater than any she could imagine; they were flying so close her feet grazed the top of the masts. It was a fleet meant for an invasion, and flying the royal blue and yellow of Pandesia.

Kyra passed over one ship after another, and the fleet seemed to stretch to the end of the world. She knew in her heart where they were heading, and the thought pained her. They were going to destroy Escalon. She watched as the ships launched flaming boulders from catapults, raining fire for her land. Explosions shook the ground as massive boulders, aflame, rocked Escalon, and the entire land turned to flame.

There, she was amazed to see, in the midst of the flames, stood a single boy, with his long hair and blue eyes. He stood there, so noble, so unafraid, staring up at her even as the fire fell all around him. He was, she knew, the last man left in Escalon, and as the dragon dropped Kyra, she suddenly shrieking as she flailed through the air. She found herself falling, reaching right for him.

“NO!” Kyra shrieked.

Kyra woke with a start, breathing hard, disoriented. She felt a tongue on her cheek and sat up to find Leo, beside her. She looked out her hut and saw Andor chewing grass, lit up in the rays of the early morning sun, and she remembered. The woods. Ur. She was still training.

She rubbed her head. It had all been a dream, one long, horrific dream. And yet it had felt so real. Who was that boy? She remembered the day before, in the forest glen, when he had saved her, and she felt it had been more than a chance meeting—there had been something special between them, something beyond her understanding. And the dream—it had felt too real. Had the boy visited her in her dreams? Was disaster coming for Escalon?

Kyra jumped to her feet, agitated, and burst out of her hut, into the forest clearing, determined to find out.

“Kyra!” a strong voice called.

Kyra turned and was startled to see, standing there in the early morning dawn, her uncle Kolva. He stood tall and proud, a serious expression on his face, and she stared back, wondering. He had not visited her since he had led her to this place, and he was the last person she had expected to find here.

“Where is Alva? Has he left?” she asked, alarmed as she looked about the clearing and could not find him. She felt a sudden pit in her stomach. “Did I fail him? Was he disappointed in me?”

“I do not know the ways of Alva,” Kolva replied. “I never understood him, even when I trained with him.
Disappointed
…I do not think that is a term which would apply to him. There is always a reason for his departure—and it is always part of the training.”

Kyra felt a sense of dread.

“Will he return?” she asked, hesitant.

“I do not know,” he replied. “Sometimes he is challenging you to look within; sometimes he feels his presence is a distraction; sometimes he demands you train yourself.”

Kyra stared back, wondering, sensing that Kolva was withholding something from her.

“Yet you haven’t come here to discuss Alva,” she said, realizing. “I sense there is something else.”

Kolva slowly nodded, grim.

“Yes,” he said flatly. Then he fell silent.

“I had an encounter yesterday,” she recalled. “I was nearly killed by a Pandesian. A boy saved me, a boy I do not know. A boy with long golden hair.”

She watched a flicker of disapproval cross her uncle’s face, and her heart raced.

“You know him,” she said, realizing. Then, in a rush, she asked, “What is his name?”

“Kyle,” he answered flatly.

Kyle. Somehow, Kyra already knew.

“Who is he?” she pressed, sensing her uncle didn’t want to discuss it, but needing to know.

“He is a Watcher,” he finally replied, reluctant. “He lives in the tower.”

Kyra’s eyes widened.

“The Tower of Ur?” she asked. “I wish to see him.”

Her uncle’s face hardened as he shook his head.

“You may not,” he said, the firmness in his voice surprising her.

“Why?” she demanded.

“He is not of your race,” he said. “It is forbidden. He was never supposed to see you. I do not know why this happened. He shall be reprimanded upon my return.”

Kyra was aghast.

“Reprimanded?” she asked. “He saved my life. Does that count for nothing?”

“It counts for a great deal. But there are laws which cannot be broken. Ancient laws. Sacred laws.”

“What laws, Uncle?” she snapped, impatient.

He sighed, impatient too.

“I have not come here to talk of Kyle,” he said. “Do not speak of him again.”

There came a long, tense silence as Kyra stared back, fuming.

“You are not my father,” she finally replied, seething.

“And yet I have come here on his business.”

She stared back, wondering.

“I have come to end your training,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows, shocked.

“End it? It has not even begun!”

He shook his head.

“It matters not,” he replied. “There is no time. Pandesia comes. Scouts close in. That is why you were spotted and attacked. You were lucky; behind that soldier lie a thousand more—all looking for you. It will only be a matter of days until they overrun Escalon and we are surrounded. You must retreat with me, at once, into the tower. We prepare a defense.”

Kyra wondered if that meant she would see Kyle.

“Kyle will be on a different floor,” Kolva continued uncannily, reading her mind. “Do not worry, you will never see him. Come at once.”

Kyra stood there, facing her uncle head on, and felt a strength welling within her, the same strength that had driven her to want to become a warrior, to cross Escalon alone.

“No,” she finally replied, defiant.

He stood there, looking stunned.

“I am your uncle,” he said firmly.

“There are many authorities in my life,” she replied. “And I’ve learned that I don’t need to answer to any of them. I have not completed my training, and I don’t quit. Not with my father out there needing me.”

“Kyra,” he said, his tone softening. “I am trying to protect you, don’t you see?”

“I don’t seek your protection, or anyone else’s. I seek only to train, and to learn how to protect myself.”

Her uncle stood, seeming unsure what to do.

“Your mother would not approve of this,” he finally said.

Kyra felt her heart beat faster at the word.
Mother
. She could not help but be curious.

“When the time is right,” he added, “I will tell you everything about her.”

“I don’t believe you,” she finally replied.

“Kyra, we have no time,” he said, exasperated. “Come with me now.”

But she stood her ground and shook her head.

“Don’t you see, Uncle?” she asked. “Death has never frightened me. Only not living with valor.”

Kolva stared at her for a long time, then finally, seeing the resolve in her eyes, he turned and disappeared back into the trees, leaving Kyra all alone in this vast wood. She felt more alone than she’d ever had in her life.

Theos
, she thought.
Where are you?

Vesuvius sprinted across the countryside, amazed to feel Escalon grass beneath his feet, amazed that he was actually standing on this ground he had dreamt of his entire life. Here he was, in the promised land, south of The Flames, the land his ancestors had only dreamt of, the land they had sung songs of, had planned raids for—the land that had always been just out of reach.

And now, here he was, the most triumphant of all his ancestors, the only one who had been able to achieve the dream. He was the one, as the prophecies had declared, who was destined to rule. Never in his life had he stepped foot in a land other than Marda, and he was enjoying himself beyond his wildest dreams. Already, he had led his army through the first village he’d found, murdering and torturing everyone in sight.

As he ran across the plains, Vesuvius delighted in the memory. He was still covered in fresh blood, and he smiled wide as he thought back to all the women and children and animals he had murdered. Torturing them, these humans who had deprived him of his dream all these years, had given him a pleasure he would never forget. Burning that village to the ground, seeing it as a pile of ashes, warmed his heart. He thought of all the other villages and towns and cities left to ransack in Escalon, and he knew it was just the beginning. Soon all of Escalon would be at his feet.

Vesuvius’s initial impulse, after emerging from the tunnel, was to turn and head for the Tower of Ur, to steal the Sword of Fire; but first, he had another, more pressing, desire. He had always dreamt of seeing The Flames from the other side. He wanted to stand there and see what it felt like to be looking north, toward Marda. More than that, he wanted vengeance. He wanted each and every human who stood watch at The Flames, who had killed so many of his people, to pay. He wanted them dead first. He knew they would never expect an attack from behind, and he could not wait to see the look on their faces when he surprised them, pinned between an army of trolls and a wall of fire. He smiled wide, seeing it now: he would stab them in the backs as they ran face-first into fire. He might not be able to lower The Flames—at least not until he reached the Tower of Ur and stole the Sword of Flames—but in the meantime, at least, he could slaughter every last man that dared stand watch before them. That would teach them to dare guard the borders of Marda.

Vesuvius increased his speed, his legs burning as he ran up and down hills, his army of trolls on his heels. He held his halberd tightly as he ran, hardly even winded, as he, like most of the troll race, had enough strength to run for miles, to never lose his breath. He would use that natural strength to his advantage. Soon enough, his trolls would spread across every last corner of Escalon. As he ran, Vesuvius took note of places and decided where he would build new cities, how he would rename them, where he would raise statues to himself. He would enslave this human race, build mining factories, create great pits of fire where he could torture men and women for his pleasure. He could hardly wait.

Hours passed, and as Vesuvius finally crested a hill, emerging from a long stretch of woods, he stopped, amazed at the sight before him. There, but a hundred yards away, stood the roaring Flames, so bright, so tall, so magnificent that they nearly blinded him. He could feel their heat from here, could hear them crackling. He had never anticipated what they would look like from this perspective. It was awe-inspiring.

And there below, unsuspecting, were the human guards, spread out, standing guard at the flames, facing north. Never could they have suspected that their enemy was, after all, to the south.

“TROLLS OF MARDA!” he cried. “ATTACK!”

There came a great shout behind him as the troll nation cried out. They raised their halberds and their shouts echoed over the hills.

Vesuvius waited and watched, savoring the moment, as the hundreds of humans standing guard at The Flames slowly turned and looked up. He watched their expressions change to bewilderment—and then, to terror. Their backs to The Flames, these humans had nowhere to run.

Vesuvius shouted and charged. Leading his nation, he ran down the hill with delight, the flames growing brighter, their heat stronger. His heart pounded with glee as he raised his halberd high and set his sights on an unsuspecting boy, hardly eighteen, who gaped and dropped his sword in terror. Vesuvius reached him, brought his hatchet down across his chest, and hacked him in two.

All around him there came the delightful sound of blades puncturing flesh, of humans shrieking in terror as the trolls slaughtered them. Most were too panic-stricken to even put up a fight, and the few who tried were murdered instantly. As his army overcame them like a wave of death, the remaining humans turned and actually ran for The Flames, preferring death by fire to death by the trolls. The air filled with the shouts of humans, the smell of their burning flesh, as one by one, they all, these Keepers of the Flames, the elite of the human warriors, were killed.

Vesuvius leaned back and looked to the sky, grinning wide, relishing this greatest moment of his life. Covered in blood, holding his halberd, itching for more death, he shouted up with joy to the skies. This was all, he knew, just the beginning. There was nothing left to stop him.

Finally, Escalon would be his.