Night of the Bold

“As if killing a dragon weren’t enough,” Sovos said with a smile, standing over him, handing him a flask of wine. Alec took a long swig, and it warmed his stomach.

The ship was teeming with soldiers, all in an excited, chaotic state. Alec was not surprised: it was not often, after all, that a dragon was felled by a sword. He looked over and saw on the deck, amidst the crowd, Merk and Lorna, clearly rescued from bobbing in the waters before. Merk looked to him like a rogue, possibly an assassin, while Lorna was stunning, with an ethereal quality. They were both dripping wet and looked dazed, and happy to be alive.

Alec noticed all the soldiers staring back at him, awestruck, and he slowly rose to his feet, in shock as he realized himself what he had just achieved. They looked from the sword, dripping wet in his hand, up to him, as if he were a god. He could not help but look down at the sword himself, feeling the weight of it in his hand, like a living thing. He stared down at the mysterious, gleaming metal as if it were a foreign object and he relived in his mind the moment he had stabbed the dragon, his shock at its puncturing its flesh. He marveled at the power of this weapon.

Perhaps even more than that, Alec could not help but wonder who he was. How was he, a simply boy from a simple village, able to slay a dragon? What did destiny have in store for him? He was beginning to feel it would be no ordinary destiny.

Alec heard the snapping of a thousand jaws, and he looked over the rail to see a school of red sharks now feasting on the dragon’s huge carcass, floating at the surface. The black waters of the Bay of Death were now blood-red. Alec watched the floating carcass, and it sank in that he had really done it. Somehow, he had killed a dragon. He, alone, in all of Escalon.

Great shrieks filled the sky, and Alec looked up to see dozens more dragons circling in the distance, breathing great columns of flame, eager for vengeance. While they all stared own at him, some seemed afraid to approach. Several flew off from the pack as they spotted their fellow dragon floating dead in the water.

Others, though, screeched in fury and dove right for him.

As he watched them plummet, Alec did not wait. He ran for the stern, jumped onto the rail, and faced them. He felt the power of the sword coursing through him, egging him on, and as he stood there, he felt a new steely determination. He felt as if the sword were driving him. He and the weapon were now one.

The pack of dragons descended right for him. A huge one with glowing green eyes led them, shrieking as it breathed down flame. Alec held the sword high, feeling the vibration in his hand, lending him courage. The very fate of Escalon, he knew, was at stake.

Alec felt a surge of courage he’d never known as he let out a battle cry himself; as he did, the sword became aglow. An intense burst of light shot forth, rising up, stopping the wall of flame halfway in the sky. It continued on until it made the flame reverse course, and as Alec slashed the sword again, the dragon shrieked as its own column of flame encapsulated it. In a great ball of fire, the dragon shrieked and flailed as it fell straight down and plunged into the waters.

Another dragon dove down, and again Alec raised the sword, stopping the wall of flame, killing it. Another dragon came in low, and as it did, it lowered its talons, as if to scoop Alec up. Alec turned and slashed and was shocked as the sword chopped off its legs. The dragon screeched, and in the same motion Alec swung again, slashing its side, opening a huge gash. The dragon crashed into the ocean, and as it flapped there, unable to fly, it was set upon by a mass of sharks.

Another dragon, a small red one, swooped down low from the other side, its jaws wide open – and as it did, this time Alec allowed his instincts to lead him and leapt up into the air. The sword lent him power, and he leapt higher than he could imagine, over the dragon’s head, and landed on its back.

The dragon shrieked and bucked, but Alec held on tight. It could not cast him off.

Alec felt himself stronger than the dragon, able to command it.

“Dragon!” he called out. “I command you! Attack!”

The dragon had no choice but to turn and fly up, right into the flock of descending dragons, a dozen of them still coming down. Alec faced them fearlessly, flying up to meet them, holding the sword before him. As they met in the sky, Alec slashed the sword again and again, with a power and speed he did not know he possessed. He sliced off one dragon’s wing, then sliced another’s throat, then stabbed another in the side of the neck, then spun and cut off another’s tail. One at a time the dragons plummeted down through the sky, crashing into the waters, causing a whirlpool in the bay below.

Alec did not relent. He attacked the flock again and again, criss-crossing the skies, never retreating. Caught up in the whirlwind, he barely noticed when finally the few remaining dragons turned, screeched, and flew off, afraid.

Alec could hardly believe it. Dragons. Afraid.

Alec looked below. He saw how high he was, saw the Bay of Death laid out below, saw hundreds of ships, most aflame, and thousands of trolls floating, dead. The Isle of Knossos, too, was aflame, its great fort in ruins. It was a sprawling scene of chaos and destruction.

Alec spotted his fleet and directed the dragon lower. When they neared, Alec raised the sword and plunged it into the dragon’s back. It screeched and began to plummet, and as they neared the water, Alec leapt and landed in the waters beside the ship.

Immediately, ropes were thrown, and Alec was hoisted back inside.

As he landed back on the deck, this time, he did not shiver. He no longer felt cold, or tired, or weak, or afraid. He felt, instead, a power he never knew. He felt filled with courage, with strength. He felt himself being reborn.

He had killed a flock of dragons.

And nothing in Escalon could stop him now.

Chapter Three

Vesuvius, awakened by the feeling of sharp claws crawling on the back of his hand, peeled open one eye, the other still sealed shut. He looked up, disoriented, to find himself lying face first in the sand, ocean waves crashing behind him, icy water rushing up the back of his legs. He remembered. After that epic battle he had washed up on the shores of the Bay of Death; he wondered how long he had lay here, unconscious. The tide was now slowly creeping in, preparing to carry him away if he had not awakened. Yet it was not the cold of the waters that woke him – it was the creature on his hand.

Vesuvius looked over at his hand, stretched out on the sand, and saw a large purple crab digging a claw into his hand, tearing out a small piece of his flesh. It took its time, as if Vesuvius were a corpse. With each dig, Vesuvius felt a shock wave of pain.

Vesuvius could not blame the creature; he looked out and saw thousands of corpses sprawled all over this beach, the remnants of his troll army. They all lay there, covered by the purple crabs, the click-clack of their claws filling the air. The stink of decaying trolls overwhelmed him, made him nearly gag. This crab on his hand was clearly the first that had dared venture all the way to Vesuvius. The others likely sensed he was still alive and bided their time. Yet this one brave crab had taken his chances. Dozens more were turning his way now, tentatively following his lead. In moments, Vesuvius knew, he would be covered, eaten alive by this small army – if he wasn’t first sucked out to sea by the freezing tides of the Bay of Death.

Feeling a hot flash of rage, Vesuvius reached over with his free hand, grabbed the purple crab, and slowly squeezed. The crab tried to get away – but Vesuvius would not allow it to. It flailed wildly, trying to reach Vesuvius with its pinchers, but he held tight, preventing it from spinning around. He squeezed harder and harder, slowly, taking his time, taking great pleasure in inflicting pain. The creature screeched, hissing an awful high-pitched noise, as Vesuvius slowly squeezed his hand into a fist.

Finally, it exploded. Gobs of purple blood dripped onto his hand, as Vesuvius heard the satisfying crack of the shell. He dropped it, smashed to a pulp.

Vesuvius pulled himself up to one knee, still wobbly, and as he did, dozens of crabs scurried away, clearly shocked to see the dead rise. A chain reaction began, and as he stood, thousands of crabs scattered, leaving the beach empty as Vesuvius took his first steps on shore. He walked through the graveyard and slowly, it all came flooding back.

The battle of Knossos. He had been winning, about to destroy Lorna and Merk, when those dragons had arrived. He recalled falling from the island; losing his army; recalled his fleet aflame; and finally, nearly drowning himself. It had been a rout, and he burned with shame at the thought of it. He turned and looked back out at the bay, the place of his defeat, and saw, in the distance, the Isle of Knossos still aflame. He saw the remnants of his fleet, floating, smashed into pieces, some partial ships still aflame. And then he heard a shriek high above. He looked up and blinked.

Vesuvius could not conceive what he saw before him. It could not be. Dragons were falling from the sky, plummeting into the bay, unmoving.

Dead.

High above, he saw a lone man riding one, battling them all as he clung to the back of a dragon, wielding a sword. Finally, the rest of the flock turned and fled.

He looked back to the waters and saw, on the horizon, dozens of ships, flying the banners of the Lost Isles, and he watched as the man dropped from the last dragon and returned to the ships. He spotted the girl, Lorna, the assassin, Merk, and it burned him to know they had survived.

Vesuvius looked back to the shore and as he examined his troll nation dead, eaten by crabs or taken by the tide and eaten by sharks, he had never felt so alone. He was, he realized with shock, the sole survivor of the army he had brought.

Vesuvius turned and looked north, at the mainland of Escalon, and he knew that somewhere, far north, the Flames had been lowered. Right now, his people were leaving Marda, raiding Escalon, millions of trolls migrating south. After all, Vesuvius had succeeded in reaching the Tower of Kos, in destroying the Sword of Flames, and surely by now his nation had crossed over and was tearing Escalon to bits. They needed leadership. They needed him.

Vesuvius may have lost this battle – but, he had to remember, he had won the war. His greatest moment of glory, the moment he’d awaited his entire life, was still awaiting him. The time had come for him to claim the mantle, to lead his people to complete and total victory.

Yes, he thought, as he stood straighter, brushing off the pain, the wounds, the freezing cold. He had gotten what he had come for. Let the girl and her people flail about on the ocean. After all, he had the destruction of Escalon before him. He could always return and kill her later. He smiled at the thought. He would kill her indeed. He would tear her limb to limb.

Vesuvius took off at a jog, then, soon, a full-fledged run. He would head north. He would meet his nation. And he would lead them on the greatest battle of all time.

It was time to destroy Escalon for now and forever.

Soon, Escalon and Marda would be one.

Chapter Four

Kyle watched in awe as the fissure in the earth widened, thousands of trolls falling to their deaths, flailing, deep into the bowels of the earth. Alva stood close by, staff raised, and intense rays of light shone down from it, so bright that Kyle had to shield his eyes. He was obliterating the army of trolls, single-handedly protecting the north. Kyle had fought with all he had, as had Kolva beside him, and while they had taken out dozens of trolls in fierce hand-to-hand combat before falling wounded, their resources were limited. Alva was the only thing stopping the trolls from overrunning Escalon.

The trolls soon realized the fissure was killing them, and they stopped on the far side, fifty feet away, realizing they could no longer advance. They looked out at Alva and Kolva and Kyle and Dierdre and Marco, eyes filled with frustration. As the fissure continued to spread their way, they turned, and panic in their eyes, they fled.

Soon the great rumbling thundered away, and all fell silent. The tide of trolls had stopped. Were they fleeing back to Marda? Regrouping to invade elsewhere? Kyle could not be sure.

As everything quieted, Kyle lay there, in agony from his wounds. He watched as Alva slowly lowered his staff and the light dimmed around him. Alva then turned to him, held out a palm, and laid it on Kyle’s forehead. Kyle felt a rush of light enter his body, felt himself warming, lightening, and within moments, he felt himself completely healed. He sat up, in shock, feeling himself again – and overflowing with gratitude.

Alva knelt at Kolva’s side, laid his hand on his stomach, and healed him, too. Within moments Kolva stood, clearly surprised to be back on his feet, light glowing from his eyes. Dierdre and Marco were next, and as Alva laid his palms on them, they, too were healed. He reached out with his staff and touched Leo and Andor, too, and they rose to their feet, all of them healed by Alva’s magical power before their wounds finished them off for good.

Kyle stood there, amazed, witnessing firsthand the power of this magical being he had only heard rumors of for most of his life. He knew he was in the presence of a true master. He also sensed that it was a presence that was fleeting; a master that could not stay.

“You have done it,” Kyle said, filled with awe and gratitude. “You have stopped the entire nation of trolls.”

Alva shook his head.

“I have not,” he replied deliberately, his voice measured, ancient. “I have only slowed them. A great and terrible destruction still comes our way.”

“Yet how?” Kyle pressed. “The fissure – they could never cross it. You’ve killed so many thousands of them. Are we not safe?”

Alva shook his head sadly.

“You have not even begun to see the tip of this nation. Millions more have yet to advance. The great battle has begun. The battle that will decide the fate of Escalon.”

Alva walked through the rubble of the Tower of Ur, picking his way with his staff, and Kyle studied him, puzzled as always by this enigma. He finally turned to Dierdre and Marco.

“You crave to return to Ur, do you not?” he asked them.

Dierdre and Marco nodded back, hope in their eyes.

“Go,” he commanded.

They stared back, clearly baffled.

“But there is nothing left there,” she said. “The city was destroyed. Flooded. The Pandesians rule it now.”

“To return there would be to return to our deaths,” Marco chimed in.

“For now,” Alva replied. “But you will be needed there soon, when the great battle comes.”

Dierdre and Marco, needing no prodding, turned, mounted Andor together, and galloped away, south into the woods, back toward the city of Ur.

Leo remained back, by Kyle’s side, and Kyle stroked his head.

“You think of me and you think of Kyra, don’t you boy?” Kyle asked Leo.

Leo whined back affectionately, and Kyle could tell he would stay by his side and protect him as if he were Kyra. He sensed a great fighting partner in him.

Kyle looked back, questioning, as Alva turned and stared at the woods to the north.

“And us, my master?” Kyle asked. “Where are we needed?”

“Right here,” Alva said.

Kyle stared at the horizon, joining him in looking north toward Marda.

“They are coming,” Alva added. “And we three are the last and final hope.”

Chapter Five

Kyra was flooded with panic as she struggled in the spider’s web, writhing, desperate to get free as the massive creature crawled for her. She did not want to look, but could not help it. She turned and was filled with dread to see a hissing, massive spider, creeping down at her, one huge leg at a time. It stared back with its huge red eyes, raised its long, fuzzy black legs, and opened its mouth wide, revealing yellow fangs, saliva dripping from them. Kyra knew she had but moments to live – and that this would be an awful way to die.

As she writhed, Kyra heard the clatter all around her of bones in the web; she looked and saw the remains of all the victims who had died here before her, and she knew her chances of survival were slim. She was stuck to the web, and there was nothing she could do.

Kyra closed her eyes, knowing she had no other choice. She could not rely on the external world. She had to look within. She knew the answer did not lie in her external strength, in her external weaponry. If she relied on the external world, she would die.

Internally, though, her power, she sensed, was vast, infinite. She had to tap her inner strength, had to summon the powers she feared to face. She had to finally understand what drove her, understand the sum result of all her spiritual training.

Energy. That was what Alva taught her. When we rely on ourselves, we use but a fraction of our energy, a fraction of our potential. Tap into the world’s energy. The entire collective universe is waiting to assist you.

It was coursing through her veins, she felt it. It was that special something she had been born with, that her mother had passed down to her. It was the power that coursed through everything, like a river flowing beneath the earth. It was the same power she had always had a hard time trusting in. It was the deepest part of herself, and the part she still did not completely trust. It was the part that she feared the most, more so than any enemy. She wanted to summon her mother, desperate for her help. Yet she knew she could not reach her here, in this land of Marda. She was entirely on her own. Perhaps this, being utterly alone, dependent on no one else, was the final leg of her training.

Kyra closed her eyes, knowing it was now or never. She sensed she had to become bigger than herself, bigger than this world she saw before her. She forced herself to focus on the energy within, and then, the energy all around her.

Slowly, Kyra tuned in. She sensed the energy of the web, of the spider; she could feel it coursing through her. She slowly allowed it to become a part of her. She no longer struggled against it. She allowed herself, instead, to become one with it.

Kyra felt herself slow down; she felt time slow down. She tuned in on the smallest detail, heard everything, felt everything around her.

Suddenly, Kyra felt a flash of energy, and she knew, for the first time, that all of the universe was one. She felt all the walls of separation come down, felt the barrier dissolve between the external and internal worlds. She felt that the distinction itself was false.

As she did, she felt a rush of energy, as if a dam had released inside her. Her palms burned as if they were on fire.

Kyra opened her eyes and saw the spider, so close now, looking down at her, preparing to pounce. She turned and saw her staff, feet away, stuck in the web. She reached out, no longer doubting herself. She summoned the staff, and as she did, it sailed through the air, right into her waiting palm. She clutched it tight.

Kyra used her power, knowing she was stronger than all she saw before her, and trusted herself. As she did, she raised her arm holding the staff, and it snapped free of the web.

She wheeled, and just as the spider closed its fangs for her, she reached over and jabbed her staff inside its mouth.

The spider let out a horrible screeching noise, and Kyra pried the staff deep into its mouth, turning it sideways. It tried to close its jaws, but it could not, the staff prying its mouth open.

But then, to Kyra’s shock, it suddenly closed its jaws and snapped the ancient staff into pieces. It broke that which could not be broken, shattering it in its mouth like a toothpick. This beast was more powerful than she had imagined.

The spider pounced for her, and as it did, time slowed. Kyra felt everything snap into focus. She felt, deep down, that she could free herself, that she could be faster than it was.

Kyra snapped forward, freeing herself, and rolled in the web; when its fangs lowered, they tore open the web instead of her.

As Kyra focused, she felt, for the first time, a faint buzz in the air, felt something summoning her. She turned and stared at what, on the far side of the web, was what she had journeyed to Marda for: the Staff of Truth. There it sat, lodged in a block of black granite, ethereal, glowing under the midnight sky.

Kyra felt an intense connection with it, felt her palms tingling as she reached out with her right hand. She let out the greatest battle cry of her life, and she knew, she just knew, that the staff would obey her.

Suddenly, Kyra felt the earth shake beneath her. She knew she was drawing the weapon out from the very core of the earth, and for a glorious moment, she no longer doubted herself, her powers, or the universe.

A great noise followed, that of stone grating against stone, and Kyra watched with awe as the staff slowly rose, released from the granite. It lifted slowly, then flew through the air, its black, jeweled shaft landing in Kyra’s right palm. She grasped it and she felt alive. It was like grasping a snake, like holding onto a living thing.

Without hesitating, Kyra spun and brought it down, just as the spider came for her. The staff suddenly morphed into a blade, and it sliced the massive web in half.

The spider, screeching, fell to the ground, clearly stunned.

Kyra spun around and sliced the web again, freeing herself completely and landing on her feet. She held the staff with both hands high above her head, just as the beast lunged for her. She faced it bravely, stepping forward and slashing at it with the Staff of Truth with all her might. She felt the staff cut through the spider’s thick body. It let out an awful screech, as she sliced the spider in half.

Thick, black blood gushed from it, as the spider fell to her feet, dead.

Kyra stood there holding the staff, arms trembling, feeling a rush of energy unlike anything she had ever felt. She felt that she had changed in that moment. She felt she had become more powerful, that she would never be the same again. She felt all the doors had opened, and that anything was possible.

High above, the skies thundered, and lightning cracked. Scarlet lightning shot across the clouds, layering it with streaks, as if the clouds were running with lava. There followed a tremendous roar, and Kyra was overjoyed to see Theon bursting through the clouds. The barrier, she sensed, had been lowered as she drew the staff. For the first time, she knew that she was the one destined to change everything.

Theon landed at her feet, and without pausing, she mounted his back and they rose high into the air. Thunder rumbled all around them as they flew through the skies, heading south, away from Marda, toward Escalon. Kyra knew she had descended to the deepest levels and had prevailed, that she had passed her final test.

And now, the Staff of Truth in hand, she had a war to wage.

Chapter Six

As she sailed away, Lorna watched the still-burning isle of Knossos fade into the horizon, and her heart broke inside her. She stood at the bow of the ship, gripping the rail, Merk at her side and the fleet of the Lost Isles behind her, and could feel all the eyes upon her. This beloved isle, home to the Watchers, to the brave warriors of Knossos, was no more. Up in flames, its glorious fort destroyed, the beloved warriors who had stood guard for thousands of years were now all dead, killed by the wave of trolls, and finished off by the flock of dragons.

Lorna sensed motion and turned to see, stepping up beside her, Alec, the boy who had killed the dragons, who had finally made the Bay of Death fall silent. He stood there, looking as dazed as she, holding his sword, and she felt a wave of gratitude toward him, and toward that weapon he held his hands. She glanced down at it, the Unfinished Sword, a thing of beauty, and could feel the intense energy coming off of it. She recalled the dragons’ death, and she knew that in his hands he held the fate of Escalon.

Lorna was grateful to be alive. She knew that she and Merk would have met a fateful end in the Bay of Death had these men of the Lost Isles not arrived. Yet she also felt a wave of guilt for those who had not survived. What pained her most was that she had not foreseen this. Her entire life, she had foreseen everything, all the twists and turns of fate in her lonely life standing guard in the Tower of Kos. She had foreseen the trolls’ arrival, had foreseen Merk’s arrival, and had even foreseen the Sword of Flames being destroyed. She had foreseen the great battle at the Isle of Knossos – yet she had not foreseen its outcome. She had not foreseen the isle in flames, had not foreseen these dragons. She was doubting her own powers, and that stung her more than anything.