A Realm of Shadows by Morgan Rice Page B

Pandesians.
    Trolls.
    An entire nation
of trolls.
    Halberds raised
high, shrieking, vicious, blood in their eyes, they swarmed the land like locusts,
clearly determined to destroy every last blade of grass in Escalon, to leave no
thing unturned. It was as if the gates of hell had been unleashed.
    As Softis stood
there, in the center of Volis, the last man left alive, he realized they were coming
right for him. Finally, for the first time in his life, death had targeted him.
    Softis did not
run. He did not cower. Instead, he stood there proudly, and for the first time
in his life, he did his best to raise his arched back so that he would stand
straight and tall, as his father might have done.
    The trolls
thundered through the gates, halberds held high, lowering them right for him,
and Softis clutched his book to his chest, and he smiled. The curse of his life
was over.
    Finally, he had
been blessed with death.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
     
     
    Dierdre and
Marco hiked through the woods as they had for hours, falling into the monotony
of rhythm, of silence, of leaves crunching beneath their feet, each lost in
their own gloom. Dierdre tried to shake away the images that flashed through
her mind—of her father’s death, of Ur being flooded, of her nearly drowning
beneath those waves. And yet every time she closed her eyes and shook her head,
they only came back stronger. She saw herself tumbling through the water, saw
her father’s face, dead, lifeless, staring up at the sky. She saw her beloved
city, all she knew in the world, completely underwater, now nothing more than
another forgotten lake.
    Dierdre looked
out at the white, glistening trees of Whitewood, tried to focus on something
else, anything, to take her mind off the past. She still felt herself
trembling, so caught up in her past trauma that it was hard for her to even remember
where she was. She forced herself to focus. Where was she? Where were they
going?
    She turned and
saw Marco hiking beside her, and it came rushing back to her: Kyra. They were
heading north, to the Tower of Ur, to find her.
    Dierdre looked
at Marco. With his strong chin, broad shoulders, and dark features, he stood much
taller than she, and she took comfort in his presence. There was something
about him—quiet, never boastful, quick to listen—that made it easy to be with.
Most of all, he was always there, by her side, and she realized she could
depend on him. He had become like a rock to her.
    Seeing him made
her think of Alec, of the feelings she had felt for his friend, and it brought
up fresh feelings of betrayal at Alec’s having fled. Had Alec survived? she
wondered. If so, where was he now? If death was inevitable in this land, which
it seemed it was, Dierdre could not help but wonder if it would have been
better for Alec to die in glory with the others than to be dead somewhere else.
    It all made her
wonder who she could really trust in this world. Marco, she felt, was a man she
could trust. In some ways, he reminded her of her father.
    “And what if
your friend is not there?”
    Dierdre was
startled by the broken silence. Marco was looking at her, too, clearly jolted
from his own thoughts, black rings beneath his eyes. He looked exhausted, and she
could only wonder what dark thoughts flooded his mind, too.
    “She will be,”
Dierdre replied, confident. “Kyra wouldn’t die. She is a survivor.”
    Marco shook his
head.
    “Perhaps you put
too much faith in your friend,” he said. “She is human, like us. How could she
have survived the attack?”
    “The Tower of Ur is far from the city,” Dierdre said. “Perhaps they have not reached her yet.
Besides, she’s not alone. She has her horse and her wolf.”
    Marco scoffed.
    “And they can
stop an army?”
    Dierdre frowned.
    “Kyra has more
than that,” she added. “I can’t explain it, but she is special. If anyone can
survive this war, it would be her.”
    Marco shook his
head.
    “You speak as if
she’s a magical