and his men rushed through the garrison like a storm, and hardly an hour had passed when Duncan finally stood there, at the end of the fort, turning every which way, and realized, blood-spattered, that there was no one left to kill. He stood there, breathing hard as twilight fell, a mist settling over the mountains, all uncannily silent.
The fort was theirs.
The men, realizing, let out a spontaneous cheer, and Duncan stood there, Anvin, Arthfael, Seavig, Kavos, and Bramthos coming up beside him, wiping blood from his sword, his armor, and taking it all in. He noticed a wound on Kavos’s arm, seeping blood.
“You’re wounded,” he pointed out to Kavos, who didn’t seem to notice.
Kavos looked down at it and shrugged. He then smiled.
“A beauty scratch,” he replied.
Duncan surveyed the battlefield, so many man dead, mostly Pandesians and few his own men. He then looked up and saw the ice peaks of Kos towering over them, disappearing in the clouds, and he was in awe at how high they had climbed, and how fast they had descended. It had been a lightning attack – like death raining down from the sky – and it had worked. The Pandesian garrison, seeming so indomitable but hours ago, was now theirs, nothing but a flattened ruin, all its men lying in pools of blood, dead beneath the twilight sky. It was surreal. The warriors of Kos spared no one, took no mercy, and had been an unstoppable force. Duncan had a fresh respect for them. They would be crucial partners in liberating Escalon.
Kavos surveyed the corpses, breathing hard, too.
“That is what I call an exit plan,” he said.
Duncan saw him grinning as he surveyed the enemy bodies, watching their men stripping the dead of their weapons.
Duncan nodded.
“And a fine exit it was,” he replied.
Duncan turned and looked west, past the fort, into the setting sun, and motion caught his eye. He squinted and saw a sight which filled his heart with warmth, a sight which somehow he had expected to see. There, on the horizon, stood his warhorse, standing proudly before the herd, hundreds of warhorses behind him. He had, as always, sensed where Duncan would be, and was there, loyally awaiting him. Duncan’s heart lifted, knowing his old friend would bring his army the rest of the way to the capital.
Duncan whistled, and as he did, his horse turned and ran for him. The other horses followed, and there came a great rumble in the twilight, as the herd galloped through the snowy plain, heading right for them.
Kavos nodded in admiration beside him.
“Horses,” Kavos remarked, watching them approach. “I myself would have walked to Andros.”
Duncan grinned.
“I am sure you would have, my friend.”
Duncan stepped forward as his horse approached, and caressed his old friend’s mane. He mounted him, and as he did, all his men mounted with him, thousands of them, an army on horseback. They sat there, fully armed, staring into the twilight, nothing before them now but the snowy plains leading to the capital.
Duncan felt a rush of excitement as he felt, finally, that they were on the brink. He could feel it, could smell victory in the air. Kavos had gotten them down the mountain; now it was his show.
Duncan raised his sword, feeling the eyes of all the men, all the armies, upon him.
“MEN!” he called out. “To Andros!”
They all let out a great battle cry and charged with him, into the night, across the snowy plains, all prepared to stop at nothing until they had reached the capital and waged the greatest war of their lives.
CHAPTER FOUR
Kyra looked up into the breaking dawn and saw a figure standing over her, a silhouette against the rising sun, a man she knew could only be her uncle. She blinked in disbelief as he stepped into view. Here, finally, was the man she had traveled across Escalon to meet, the man that would reveal her destiny, the man who would train her. Here was her mother’s brother, the only link she had to the mother she never knew.
Her heart slammed with anticipation as he stepped forward out of the light and she saw his face.
Kyra was amazed: he looked startlingly like her. She had never met anyone who bore her resemblance – not even her father, as much as she hoped. She had always felt like a stranger in this world, disconnected to any true lineage – but now, seeing this man’s face, his high, chiseled cheekbones, his flashing gray eyes, a man who stood tall and proud, with broad shoulders, muscular, dressed in shining gold chain-mail armor, with light brown hair that went down to his chin, unshaven, in his forties, perhaps, she realized he was special. And by extension, that made her special. For the first time in her life, she really felt it. For the first time, she felt connected to someone, to a powerful bloodline, to something greater than herself. She felt a sense of belonging in the world.
This man was clearly different. He was obviously a warrior, proud and noble, yet he did not carry any swords, any shields, weapons of any sort. To her amazement and delight, he carried only a single item: a golden staff. A staff. He was just like her.
“Kyra,” he said.
His voice resounded through her, a voice so familiar, so much like hers. Hearing him speak, she felt not only a connection to him, but even more exciting, to her mother. Here stood her mother’s brother. Here was the man who knew who her mother was. Finally, she would get the truth – there would be no more secrets in her life. Soon enough she would know everything about the woman she had always longed to know.
He lowered a hand, and she reached up and took it, standing, her legs stiff from the long night of sitting before the tower. It was a strong hand, muscular, yet surprisingly smooth, and he helped her to her feet. Leo and Andor stepped toward him and Kyra was surprised they did not snarl as usual. Instead, they walked forward and licked the man’s hand, as if they had known him forever.
Then, to Kyra’s amazement, Leo and Andor stood at attention, as if the man had silently commanded them. Kyra had never seen anything like it. What powers did this man have?
Kyra didn’t even need to ask if he was her uncle – she sensed it with every ounce of her body. He was powerful, proud, everything she had hoped he would be. There was something else in him, too, something she could not quite grasp. It was a mystical energy radiating off of him, an aura of calm, yet also of strength.
“Uncle,” she said. She liked the sound of that word.
“You may call me Kolva,” he replied.
Kolva. Somehow, it was a name that felt familiar.
“I crossed Escalon to see you,” she said, nervous, not knowing what else to say. The morning silence swallowed her words, the barren plains filled only with the sound of the distant crashing of the ocean. “My father sent me.”
He smiled back. It was a warm smile, the lines in his face bunching up as if he had lived a thousand years.
“It was not your father who sent you,” he replied. “But something far greater.”
He suddenly, without warning, turned his back and began to walk, using his staff, away from the tower.
Kyra
