of Kos. They had been journeying for days, never stopping since their encounter with those baylors. Kyle tried to lose himself, to drown out his thoughts, in the landscape. Yet it was not easy to do. There flashed through his mind images of the Tower of Ur falling, of his fellow Watchers’ deaths. He burned with indignation and felt a stronger desire than ever to reach Kos, secure the Sword before Marda could arrive, and ensure Escalon’s survival.
Despite everything, Kyle had taken a liking to this human, his new traveling companion, Merk. He had displayed bravery in battle, in defending the tower, even when he had not needed to. There were very few humans whom Kyle liked, but this one, for some reason, he did. Kyle could sense in him, deep down, a struggle to change, to cast off his old life—and it was something Kyle could relate to. Kyle knew he could trust him and that he would make a fine brother-in-arms, even if he were not of his race.
Kyle studied the horizon as the sun lowered in the sky, contemplating the best way to approach the barren and inhospitable peninsula of the Devil’s Finger. In the distance he could already begin to see the icy peaks of Kos, the mountain range seeming to reach the sky, and he knew a formidable journey lay ahead of them. His mind swam with thoughts of the tower, the trolls—of Kyra—and he tried to push them away, to stay focused on his mission.
And yet as he was hiking, immersed in his thoughts, halfway across the great plains, something inside Kyle made him suddenly stop. He stood there, frozen, listening to something on the wind.
Merk stopped beside him, looking at him questioningly. It was the first time they had stopped in days.
Kyle turned and surveyed the plains before him. He turned slowly in the opposite direction and looked due south. As he did, he felt a pulse of energy course through his body, and he knew. Life and death was at stake. He was needed.
“What is it?” Merk asked.
Kyle stood there, silent for many minutes. He closed his eyes, listening to the wind, trying to understand.
And then, suddenly, like a spear in his back, he knew. Kyra. She was in grave danger; he felt it in every bone in his body.
He turned to Merk.
“I cannot continue with you,” he said, barely believing his own words.
Merk stared back, clearly shocked.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Kyra,” he said, still trying to understand what it was. “She needs me.”
Merk frowned, but Kyle reached out and clasped Merk’s arm and looked him in the eyes with all intensity.
“Continue without me,” Kyle told him. “When you reach Kos, secure the Sword. Do whatever you have to. I will catch up.”
Merk looked disappointed, clearly not understanding. Kyle wished he could explain, but how could he explain his love for Kyra? How could he explain that it was more important to him even than the fate of Escalon?
Without another word, Kyle, burning with urgency, turned and raced south, faster than he’d ever run, skipping across the plains, knowing he would save Kyra or die trying.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
His Glorious Ra, Most Holy and Supreme Leader of Pandesia, stood atop the battlements of Andros and looked out over the countryside of Escalon, taking it all in. It was now his. All of it. He grinned in satisfaction.
There, in the distance, he could see his armies charging north, pursuing the trolls, hacking them to death as they fled. It had been a rout. The nation of Marda was no doubt a vicious one, the trolls twice the size of his men, their strength legendary, and their leader, Vesuvius, high on the list of those that Ra wanted to capture and torture personally. And yet, still, he had prevailed. He had lost thousands of men fighting them—but he had merely sent in thousands more. It was the great convenience of having a slave army, gathered from all corners of the Empire. His people were dispensable.
Eventually, as Ra knew they would, the trolls buckled under
Despite everything, Kyle had taken a liking to this human, his new traveling companion, Merk. He had displayed bravery in battle, in defending the tower, even when he had not needed to. There were very few humans whom Kyle liked, but this one, for some reason, he did. Kyle could sense in him, deep down, a struggle to change, to cast off his old life—and it was something Kyle could relate to. Kyle knew he could trust him and that he would make a fine brother-in-arms, even if he were not of his race.
Kyle studied the horizon as the sun lowered in the sky, contemplating the best way to approach the barren and inhospitable peninsula of the Devil’s Finger. In the distance he could already begin to see the icy peaks of Kos, the mountain range seeming to reach the sky, and he knew a formidable journey lay ahead of them. His mind swam with thoughts of the tower, the trolls—of Kyra—and he tried to push them away, to stay focused on his mission.
And yet as he was hiking, immersed in his thoughts, halfway across the great plains, something inside Kyle made him suddenly stop. He stood there, frozen, listening to something on the wind.
Merk stopped beside him, looking at him questioningly. It was the first time they had stopped in days.
Kyle turned and surveyed the plains before him. He turned slowly in the opposite direction and looked due south. As he did, he felt a pulse of energy course through his body, and he knew. Life and death was at stake. He was needed.
“What is it?” Merk asked.
Kyle stood there, silent for many minutes. He closed his eyes, listening to the wind, trying to understand.
And then, suddenly, like a spear in his back, he knew. Kyra. She was in grave danger; he felt it in every bone in his body.
He turned to Merk.
“I cannot continue with you,” he said, barely believing his own words.
Merk stared back, clearly shocked.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Kyra,” he said, still trying to understand what it was. “She needs me.”
Merk frowned, but Kyle reached out and clasped Merk’s arm and looked him in the eyes with all intensity.
“Continue without me,” Kyle told him. “When you reach Kos, secure the Sword. Do whatever you have to. I will catch up.”
Merk looked disappointed, clearly not understanding. Kyle wished he could explain, but how could he explain his love for Kyra? How could he explain that it was more important to him even than the fate of Escalon?
Without another word, Kyle, burning with urgency, turned and raced south, faster than he’d ever run, skipping across the plains, knowing he would save Kyra or die trying.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
His Glorious Ra, Most Holy and Supreme Leader of Pandesia, stood atop the battlements of Andros and looked out over the countryside of Escalon, taking it all in. It was now his. All of it. He grinned in satisfaction.
There, in the distance, he could see his armies charging north, pursuing the trolls, hacking them to death as they fled. It had been a rout. The nation of Marda was no doubt a vicious one, the trolls twice the size of his men, their strength legendary, and their leader, Vesuvius, high on the list of those that Ra wanted to capture and torture personally. And yet, still, he had prevailed. He had lost thousands of men fighting them—but he had merely sent in thousands more. It was the great convenience of having a slave army, gathered from all corners of the Empire. His people were dispensable.
Eventually, as Ra knew they would, the trolls buckled under
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