A Forge of Valor

Dierdre rowed harder, turning through the twisting canal, and her thoughts turned to Alec. She was so disappointed in him. He had abandoned them all, had departed Ur with that mysterious stranger before the invasion. Why? She could only wonder. He had been so devoted to the cause, the forge, and she was sure he’d be the last person to flee in a time of need. Yet he had, when they needed him most.

It made Dierdre reexamine her feelings for Alec, whom, after all, she barely knew—and it made her have stronger feelings for his friend Marco, who had sacrificed for her. Already she felt a strong bond with him. As cannonballs continued to whistle overhead, as buildings continued to explode and topple all around them, Dierdre wondered if Marco really knew what he was getting into. Did he know that by joining her, by returning into the heart of chaos, there would be no return?

“We row toward death, you know,” she said. “My father and his men are on that beach, beyond that wall of rubble, and I intend to find him and fight by his side.”

Marco nodded.

“Do you think I returned to this city to live?” he asked. “If I wanted to flee, I had my chance.”

Satisfied, and touched by his strength, Dierdre rowed on, the two of them continuing silently, avoiding falling debris as they turned ever closer toward the shore.

Finally, they turned a corner, and in the distance she spotted the wall of rubble where she had last seen her father—and just beyond it, the tall black ships. She knew that on the other side lay the beach where he was battling the Pandesians, and she rowed with all she had, sweat pouring down her face, anxious to reach him in time. She heard the sounds of fighting, of men groaning out, dying, and she prayed it was not too late.

Barely had their boat reached the edge of the canal when she jumped out, rocking it, Marco behind her, and sprinted for the wall. She scrambled over the massive boulders, scraping her elbows and knees and not caring. Out of breath, she climbed and climbed, slipping on rocks, thinking only of her father, of having to reach the other side, hardly comprehending that these mounds of rubble were once the great towers of Ur.

She glanced over her shoulder as she heard the shouts, and, afforded a sweeping view of Ur from up here, she was shocked to see half the city in ruins. Buildings were toppled, mountains of rubble in the streets, covered by clouds of dust. She saw the people of Ur fleeing for their lives in every direction.

She turned back around and continued climbing, going the opposite direction of the people, wanting to embrace the battle—not run from it. She finally reached the top of the rock wall, and as she looked out, her heart stopped. She stood there, frozen in place, unable to move. This was not what she had expected at all.

Dierdre had expected to see a great battle being waged below, to see her father fighting valiantly, his men all around him. She expected to be able to rush down there and join him, to save him, to fight at his side.

Instead, what she saw made her want to curl up and die.

There lay her father, face-first in the sand, covered in a pool of blood, a hatchet in his back.

Dead.

All around him lay his dozens of soldiers, all dead, too. Thousands of Pandesian soldiers clamored off the ships like ants, spreading out, covering the beach, stabbing each body to make sure it was dead. They stepped on her father’s body and the others as they made their way for the wall of rubble, and right for her.

Dierdre looked down as she heard a noise and saw some Pandesians had already reached it, were already climbing up, hardly thirty feet away, right for her.

Dierdre, filled with despair, anguish, rage, stepped forward and hurled her spear down at the first Pandesian she saw climbing up. He looked up, clearly not expecting to see anyone atop the wall, not expecting anyone to be crazy enough to face off against an invading army. Dierdre’s spear impaled his chest, sending him sliding back down the rock and taking out several soldiers with him.

The other soldiers rallied, and a dozen of them raised their spears and threw them back up at her. It happened too quickly and Dierdre stood there defenseless, wanting to be impaled, ready to die. Wanting to die. She had been too late—her father was dead below, and now she, overwhelmed by guilt, wanted to die with him.

“Dierdre!” cried a voice.

Dierdre heard Marco beside her, and a moment later she felt him grabbing her, yanking her back down to the other side of the rubble. Spears whizzed by her head, right where she had been standing, missing her by inches, and she tumbled backwards, back down the pile of rubble, with Marco.

She felt terrible pain as the two of them tumbled head over heels, the rocks smashing her ribs, all over her body, bruising and scratching her all over the place, until finally they hit the bottom.

Dierdre lay there for a moment, struggling to breathe, feeling the wind knocked out of her, wondering if she were dead. She realized dimly that Marco had just saved her life.

Marco, quickly recovering, grabbed her and yanked her back to her feet. They ran together, stumbling, her body aching, away from the wall and back into the streets of Ur.

Dierdre glanced back over her shoulder and saw Pandesians already reaching the top. She watched as they raised bows and began to fire arrows, raining down death on the city.

All around Dierdre cries rang out as people began to fall, pierced in the back by arrows and spears as the sky turned black. Dierdre saw an arrow descending right for Marco and she reached out and yanked him, pulling him out of the way, behind a wall of rock. There came the sound of arrowheads hitting the stone behind them, and Marco turned and looked at her gratefully.

“We’re even,” she said.

There followed a shout, then a great clanging of armor, and she looked out to see dozens more Pandesians reach the top, all of them charging down the rock. Some were faster than others, and several of them, leading the pack, raced right for Dierdre.

Dierdre and Marco exchanged a knowing look, and nodded. Neither was prepared to run.

Marco stepped out from behind the rock as they neared, raised his spear, and aimed for the lead soldier. The spear lodged in his chest, dropping him.

Marco then spun around and slashed another’s throat with his sword; he kicked a third soldier as he neared, then raised his sword high and brought it down on the fourth.

Dierdre, inspired, grabbed a flail from the ground and turned and swung with all her might. The spiked metal ball smashed an approaching soldier in the helmet, knocking him down, and she swung again and smashed another in the back before he could stab Marco.

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