“I will change destiny,” she said emphatically. “Whatever it takes. Even if I have to give up my very own soul.”
Eldof looked at her long and hard, studying her.
“Yes,” he said. “You will, won’t you? I can see that strength in you. A warrior’s spirit.”
He examined her, and for the first time she saw a bit of certainty in his expression.
“I did not expect to find this within you,” he continued, his voice humbled. “There are a select few, like yourself, who do have the power to change destiny. But the price you will pay is very great.”
He sighed, as if shaking off a vision.
“In any case,” he continued, “you will not change destiny here—not in the Ridge. Death is coming here. What they need is not a rescue—but an exodus. They need a new leader, to lead them across the Great Waste. I think you already know that you are that leader.”
Gwen felt a chill at his words. She could not imagine herself having the strength to go through it all again.
“How can I lead them?” she asked, exhausted at the thought. “And where is there left to go? We are in the midst of nowhere.”
He turned away, falling silent, and as he began to walk away, Gwen felt a sudden burning desire to know more.
“Tell me,” she said, rushing out and grabbing his arm.
He turned and looked at her hand, as if a snake were touching him, until finally she removed it. Several of his monks rushed forth out of the shadows and hovered close by, looking at her angrily—until finally Eldof nodded at them, and they retreated.
“Tell me,” he said to her, “I will answer you once. Just once. What is it that you wish to know?”
Gwen took a deep breath, desperate.
“Guwayne,” she said, breathless. “My son. How do I get him back? How do I change destiny?”
He looked at her long and hard.
“The answer has been before you all along, and yet you don’t see.”
Gwen racked her brain, desperate to know, and yet she could not understand what it was.
“Argon,” he added. “There remains one secret he has feared to tell you. That is where your answer lies.”
Gwen was shocked.
“Argon?” she asked. “Does Argon know?”
Eldof shook his head.
“He does not. But his master does.”
Gwen’s mind reeled.
“His master?” she asked.
Gwen had never considered Argon having a master.
Eldof nodded.
“Demand that he bring you to him,” he said, a finality in his voice. “The answers you receive will startle even you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mardig strutted down the castle corridors with determination, his heart pounding as he contemplated in his mind’s eye what he was about to do. He reached down and with a sweaty palm clutched the dagger deep hidden in his waist. He walked the same path he had a million times before—on his way to see his father.
The King’s chamber was not far now, and Mardig twisted and turned down the familiar corridors, past all the guards who bowed reverentially at the sight of the King’s son. Mardig knew he had little to fear from them. No one had any idea what he was about to do, and no one would know what had happened until long after the deed was done—and the kingdom was his.
Mardig felt a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, his knees trembling, forced himself to stay resolved as he prepared to do the deed he had contemplated his entire life. His father had always been an oppressor to him, had always disapproved of him, while he had approved of his other, warrior, sons. He even approved of his daughter more than he. All because he, Mardig, had chosen not to participate in this culture of chivalry; all because he preferred to drink wine and chase women—instead of killing other men.
In his father’s eyes, that made him a failure. His father had frowned upon everything Mardig did, his disapproving eyes following him at every corner, and Mardig had always dreamt of a day of reckoning. And at the same time, Mardig could seize power for himself. Everyone had expected the kingship to fall to one of his brothers, to the eldest, Koldo, or if not he, then to Mardig’s twin, Ludvig. But Mardig had other plans.
As Mardig turned the corner, the soldiers guarding it reverentially bowed, and they turned to open it for him without even asking him why.
But suddenly, one of them stopped, unexpectedly, and turned to look at him.
“My lord,” he said, “the King did not make us aware of any visitors this morning.”
Mardig’s heart started pounding, but he forced himself to appear bold and confident; he turned and stared back at the soldier, a stare of entitlement, until finally he could see the soldier looking unsure of himself.
“And am I a mere visitor?” Mardig answered coldly, doing his best to seem unafraid.
The guard slowly backed away quickly and Mardig marched through the open door, the guards closing it behind him.
Mardig strutted into the room, and as he did, he saw the surprised eyes of his father, who had been standing at the window and looking out looking pensively at his kingdom. He faced him, confused.
“Mardig,” his father said, “to what do I owe the privilege? I did not summon you. Nor have you bothered to visit me any of these past moons—unless there was something you want.”
Mardig’s heart slammed in his chest.
“I’ve not come to ask anything of you, Father,” he replied. “I have come to take.”
His father looked confused.
“To take?” he asked.
“To take what is mine,” Mardig replied.
Mardig took a few long strides across the chamber, steeling himself, as his father looked back at him, baffled.
“What is it that is yours?” he asked.
Mardig felt his palms sweating, the dagger in his hand, and did not know if he could go through with it.
“Why, the kingdom,” he said.
Mardig slowly released the dagger in his palm, wanting his father to see it before he stabbed him, wanting his father to see firsthand how much he hated him. He wanted to see his father’s expression of fear, of shock, of rage.
But as his father looked down, it was not the moment Mardig had expected. He had expected his father to resist, to fight back; but instead he looked up at him with sadness and compassion.
“My boy,” he said. “You are still my son, despite all, and I love you. I know, deep in your heart, you don’t mean this.”
Mardig narrowed his eyes, confused.
“I am sick, my son,” the King continued. “Soon enough, I will be dead. When I am, the Kingdom will pass to your brothers, not you. Even if you were to kill me now, you would gain nothing from it. You would still be third in line. So put down your weapon and embrace me. I still love you, as any father would.”
Mardig, in a sudden rush of rage, hands shaking, leapt forward and plunged the dagger deep into his father’s heart.
His father stood there, eyes bulging in disbelief, as Mardig held him tight and looked into his eyes.
“Your sickness has made you weak, Father,” he said. “Five years ago I could never have done this. And a kingdom does not deserve a weak king. I know you will die soon—but that is not soon enough for me.”
His father finally collapsed to the floor, motionless.
Dead.
Mardig looked down, breathing hard, still in shock at what he had just done. He wiped his hand on his robe, threw down the knife, and it landed with a clang on the floor.
Mardig scowled down at his father.
“Don’t you worry about my brothers, Father,” he added. “I have a plan for them, too.”
Mardig stepped over his father’s corpse, approached the window, and looked down at the capital city below. His city.
Now it was all his.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kendrick raised his sword and blocked the blow as a Sand Walker brought its
razor-sharp claw down for his face. It stopped it with a clang, sparks flying out, and Kendrick dodged out of the way, as the creature slid its claws down off the blade and swiped for his head.
Kendrick spun around and slashed, but the creature was surprisingly quick. It backed away, Kendrick’s sword just missing. It then lunged forward, leaping high into the air and coming straight down for Kendrick—and this time, he was prepared. He had underestimated its speed, but would not do so a second time. Kendrick squatted down low and raised his sword high—and he let the beast impale itself, falling right through the blade.
Kendrick rose to his knees and swung his sword low, slashing off the legs of two Sand Walkers as they came for him. He then turned and thrust his sword backwards, stabbing one in the gut right before it landed on his back.
The beasts descended on him from all directions, and Kendrick found himself in the midst of a heated battle, Brandt and Atme by his side and Koldo and Ludvig by his other. The five of them instinctually backed up to each other, forming a tight circle, back to back, slashing and jabbing and kicking, keeping the creatures at bay as they watched each other’s backs.
They fought and fought and fought beneath the blazing suns, with nowhere to retreat to in the vast, open space. Kendrick’s shoulders ached, and he was up to his elbows in blood, exhausted from his long trek, from the endless battle. They had no reserves, and nowhere to go, and they all fought for their lives. The enraged screeches of these beasts filled the air, as they dropped left and right. Kendrick knew that they had to be careful; it was a long trek back, and if any of them were wounded, it would be a dire situation.
As he fought, in the distance, Kendrick caught a glimpse of the boy, Kaden, and he was relieved to see he was still alive. He struggled, his hands and arms bound behind his back and held back by several creatures. The sight of him motivated Kendrick, reminded him why he had come out here to begin with. He fought furiously, doubling his efforts, trying to cut through all these beasts and make his way to the boy. He did not like the way they were handling him, and he knew he had to reach him before these creatures did anything rash.
Kendrick groaned in pain as he suddenly felt a slash across his arm. He turned to see a creature swinging again, coming down with his razor-sharp claws, right for his face. He could not react in time, and he braced himself for the blow, expecting it to tear his face in two—when suddenly Brandt lunged forward and pierced the creature through its chest with his sword, saving Kendrick at the last moment.
At the same time, Atme stepped forward and slashed a creature right before it could sink its fangs into Brandt’s throat.
Kendrick then spun, slashing two creatures before they descended on Atme.
Around and around he went, spinning and slashing, fighting each and every creature to the last. The creatures fell at their feet, piling on the sand, and the sand turned red with blood.
Kendrick spotted, out of the corner of his eye, several creatures grabbing Kaden and beginning to run off with him. Kendrick’s heart pounded; he knew it was a dire situation. If he lost sight of them, they would disappear in the desert and they’d never find Kaden again.
Kendrick knew he had to make a run for it. He broke free from the fight, elbowing several creatures out of his way, and chased after the boy, leaving the others to fight the creatures. Several creatures pursued him, and Kendrick turned, kicking and slashing to deter them as he went. Kendrick felt himself scratched on all sides, but no matter what, he didn’t stop. He had to reach Kaden in time.
Kendrick, spotting Kaden, knew he had to stop him; he knew he only had one shot at this.
Kendrick reached into his waist, grabbed a knife, and threw it. It landed on a creature’s neck, killing it right before it could sink its claws into Kaden’s throat. Kendrick burst through the crowd, closing the gap, running all the way to Kaden and stabbing another right before it could finish him off.
Kendrick took a defensive position over Kaden, who lay on the ground, bound, as Kendrick killed off his captors. As more creatures closed in on him, Kendrick blocked their claws in each direction. He found himself surrounded, slashing in every direction, but determined to save Kaden. The others, he could see, were too immersed in battle to rush to Kaden’s side.
Kendrick raised his sword high and slashed the boy’s ropes, freeing him.
“Take my sword!” Kendrick implored.
Kaden grabbed the extra short sword from Kendrick’s scabbard, and spun and faced the rest of the creatures, at Kendrick’s side. Although he was young, Kendrick could see the boy was quick and brave and bold, and Kendrick was pleased to have him by his side, fighting the creatures.
They fought well together, felling creatures left and right. But, fight as they did, there were just too many of them, and Kendrick and Kaden were soon completely surrounded.
Kendrick was losing strength, his shoulders tiring, when suddenly, he saw the creatures begin to fall and heard a great battle cry from behind them. Kendrick was elated to see Koldo, Ludvig, Brandt, and Atme break through the lines, killing creatures in every direction. Encouraged, Kendrick fought back, making one last push, Kaden by his side. The six of them, fighting together, were unstoppable, felling all of the creatures.
Kendrick stood there in the silence, breathing hard on the desert sand, taking stock; he could hardly believe what they had just done. All around them were the piled up carcasses of the beasts, sprawled out in various directions, the sand red with blood. He and the others were covered in wounds, scratched up—but they all stood there, alive. And Kaden, grinning from ear to ear, was free.
Kaden reached out and embraced each one of them, one by one, starting with Kendrick, looking at him meaningfully. He saved his final embrace for Koldo, his eldest brother, and Koldo hugged him back, his black skin rippling in the sky.
“I can’t believe you came for me,” Kaden said.
“You’re my brother,” Koldo said. “Where else would I be?”
Kendrick heard a sound and looked over and saw the six horses these creatures had kidnapped, all tied to a rope together—and he and the others exchanged knowing glances.
As one, they all rushed over and mounted the beasts, each barely seated before they dug in their heels and prodded the beasts onward, back into the Waste, all heading back to the Ridge, back, finally, to home.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Erec stood at the stern of his ship, taking up the rear of his fleet, and checked back over his shoulder once again with anxiety. On the one hand, he was relieved that they had managed to wipe out that Empire village, to fork back up the river toward Volusia, toward Gwendolyn; on the other hand, he had paid a dear price, not just in lost men, but in lost time—he had wiped out whatever lead they’d had on the remainder of the Empire fleet. As he glanced back, he saw them following, way too close, snaking their way upriver, but a few hundred yards away, sailing the black and gold banners of the Empire. He had lost his day’s lead on them, and they now followed him furiously, like a hornet chasing its prey, their superior ships, better manned, getting ever closer with each gust of wind.
Erec turned back and checked the horizon. He knew from his scouts that Volusia lay just beyond the bend somewhere—yet, at the rate at which the Empire was closing the gap, he wondered if his small fleet would reach it in time. He was starting to realize that if they did not make it in time, they would have to turn around and make a stand—and that was a stand, so vastly outnumbered, they could not win.
Erec heard a sound that raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and he turned and looked up to see a sight which left him with a cold dread: a wave of Empire arrows had been unleashed, and they now sailed through the air, blackening the sky, heading, in a high arc, for his fleet. Erec braced himself and watched with relief as the first volley landed in the water all around him, perhaps twenty yards from his ship, the sound of arrows hitting water sounding like heavy raindrops.
“ARROWS!” Erec yelled, warning his men to take cover.
Most of them did, and not a moment too soon. Another volley soon followed, these shot by crossbows with a further range, and Erec watched, horrified, as one reached the deck of his ship and one of his soldiers yelled out. Erec turned to see it sticking through his leg, pierced by a random arrow, the only one with a range just far enough to hit.
Erec felt a flush of indignation—and of urgency. The Empire was within range; too soon they would be overtaken, and with the Empire’s fleet of thousands of ships, there was simply no way Erec’s men could outfight them. Erec knew he had to think quickly.
“Shall we turn and fight, my brother?” asked Strom, coming up beside him.
Alistair looked back, too, standing calmly beside him.
“You will prevail, my love,” she said. “I have seen it.”
Erec felt encouraged by her words, as always, and as he stared and studied the landscape, an idea came to him.
“Sometimes,” he said, “we must sacrifice to achieve something greater.”
Erec turned to his brother, confident.
“Board the ship beside us. Evacuate it, then take up the rear,” he commanded. He then took Strom’s arm and looked him in the eye.
“When you’re done,” he added, “set that ship aflame, and sail it right for their fleet. You will jump on my ship before the flames overtake it.”
Strom’s eyes widened in appreciation for the plan. He jumped into action, running and leaping from the deck to the ship beside him, executing his brother’s orders. He began barking orders, and the men fell in all around him, jumping into action and beginning to abandon ship, jumping onto the deck of Erec’s ship. Erec could feel the weight of his ship growing heavier.
“More oars!” Erec cried, feeling them slowing.
He doubled the number of oarsmen on board, and they all pulled, heaving, as Erec’s ship began to pick up speed.
“Spread out!” Erec commanded, realizing his ship was going too slow. “Jump to the other ships!”