fleet, but
hours ago sitting so defiantly in the harbor, a sign of Pandesian conquest, was
no more. Its hundreds of ships were destroyed, all burning together in Duncan’s
victory. His speed and surprise had worked.
There came a
great shout amongst his men, and Duncan turned to see all of his men cheering
as they watched the ships burn, their faces black with soot, exhaustion from
having ridden through the night—yet all of them drunk with victory. It was a
cry of relief. A cry of freedom. A cry they had been waiting years to release.
Yet no sooner
had it sounded when another shout filled the air—this one much more
ominous—followed by a sound which made the hair rise on Duncan’s neck. He
turned and his heart dropped to see the great gates to the stone barracks
slowly opening. As they did, there appeared a frightening sight: thousands of
Pandesian soldiers, fully armed, in perfect ranks; a professional army,
outnumbering his men ten to one, was preparing. And as the gates opened, they
let out a cry and charged right for them.
The beast had
been roused. Now, the real war would begin.
CHAPTER SIX
Kyra, clutching
Andor’s mane, galloped through the night, Deidre beside her, Leo at her feet,
all racing through the snow-filled plains west of Argos like thieves fleeing
through the night. As she rode, hour passing hour, the sound of the horses
thumping in her ears, Kyra became lost in her own world. She imagined what
might lie ahead of her in the Tower of Ur, who her uncle might be, what he
would say about her, about her mother, and she could barely contain her
excitement. Yet she also had to admit, she felt fear. It would be a long trek
to cross Escalon, one she had never done before. And looming ahead of them, she
saw, was the Wood of Thorns. The open plains were coming to an end, and they
would soon be immersed in a claustrophobic wood filled with savage beasts. She
knew all rules were off once they crossed that tree line.
The snow whipped
her face as the wind howled across the open plains, and Kyra, her hands numb,
dropped the torch from her hand, realizing it had burned dead long ago. She
rode through the dark, lost in her own thoughts, the only sound that of the
horses, of the snow beneath them, and of Andor’s occasional snarl. She could
feel his rage, his untamed nature, unlike any beast she had ever ridden. It was
as if Andor was not only unafraid of what lay ahead—but openly hoping for a
confrontation.
Wrapped in her
furs, Kyra felt another wave of hunger pains, and as she heard Leo whine yet
again, she knew they could not all ignore their hunger much longer. They had
been riding for hours and had already devoured their frozen strips of meat; she
realized, too late, that they had not brought enough provisions. No small game
surfaced on this snowy night, and it did not bode well. They would have to stop
and find food soon.
They slowed as
they neared the edge of the Wood, Leo snarling at the dark tree line. Kyra
glanced back over her shoulder, at the rolling plains leading back to Argos, at
the last open sky she would see for a while. She turned back and stared at the
wood, and a part of her was loath to move ahead. She knew the reputation of the
Wood of Thorns, and this, she knew, was a moment of no turning back.
“You ready?” she
asked Dierdre.
Dierdre appeared
to be a different girl now than the one who had left prison. She was stronger,
more resolute, as if she had been to the depths of hell and back and was ready
to face anything.
“The worst that
can happen has already happened to me,” Deidre said, her voice cold and hard as
the wood before them, a voice too old for her age.
Kyra nodded,
understanding—and together, they set off, entering the tree line.
The moment they
did, Kyra immediately felt a chill, even in this cold night. It was darker
here, more claustrophobic, filled with ancient black trees with gnarled
branches resembling thorns, and thick, black leaves. The wood exuded
hours ago sitting so defiantly in the harbor, a sign of Pandesian conquest, was
no more. Its hundreds of ships were destroyed, all burning together in Duncan’s
victory. His speed and surprise had worked.
There came a
great shout amongst his men, and Duncan turned to see all of his men cheering
as they watched the ships burn, their faces black with soot, exhaustion from
having ridden through the night—yet all of them drunk with victory. It was a
cry of relief. A cry of freedom. A cry they had been waiting years to release.
Yet no sooner
had it sounded when another shout filled the air—this one much more
ominous—followed by a sound which made the hair rise on Duncan’s neck. He
turned and his heart dropped to see the great gates to the stone barracks
slowly opening. As they did, there appeared a frightening sight: thousands of
Pandesian soldiers, fully armed, in perfect ranks; a professional army,
outnumbering his men ten to one, was preparing. And as the gates opened, they
let out a cry and charged right for them.
The beast had
been roused. Now, the real war would begin.
CHAPTER SIX
Kyra, clutching
Andor’s mane, galloped through the night, Deidre beside her, Leo at her feet,
all racing through the snow-filled plains west of Argos like thieves fleeing
through the night. As she rode, hour passing hour, the sound of the horses
thumping in her ears, Kyra became lost in her own world. She imagined what
might lie ahead of her in the Tower of Ur, who her uncle might be, what he
would say about her, about her mother, and she could barely contain her
excitement. Yet she also had to admit, she felt fear. It would be a long trek
to cross Escalon, one she had never done before. And looming ahead of them, she
saw, was the Wood of Thorns. The open plains were coming to an end, and they
would soon be immersed in a claustrophobic wood filled with savage beasts. She
knew all rules were off once they crossed that tree line.
The snow whipped
her face as the wind howled across the open plains, and Kyra, her hands numb,
dropped the torch from her hand, realizing it had burned dead long ago. She
rode through the dark, lost in her own thoughts, the only sound that of the
horses, of the snow beneath them, and of Andor’s occasional snarl. She could
feel his rage, his untamed nature, unlike any beast she had ever ridden. It was
as if Andor was not only unafraid of what lay ahead—but openly hoping for a
confrontation.
Wrapped in her
furs, Kyra felt another wave of hunger pains, and as she heard Leo whine yet
again, she knew they could not all ignore their hunger much longer. They had
been riding for hours and had already devoured their frozen strips of meat; she
realized, too late, that they had not brought enough provisions. No small game
surfaced on this snowy night, and it did not bode well. They would have to stop
and find food soon.
They slowed as
they neared the edge of the Wood, Leo snarling at the dark tree line. Kyra
glanced back over her shoulder, at the rolling plains leading back to Argos, at
the last open sky she would see for a while. She turned back and stared at the
wood, and a part of her was loath to move ahead. She knew the reputation of the
Wood of Thorns, and this, she knew, was a moment of no turning back.
“You ready?” she
asked Dierdre.
Dierdre appeared
to be a different girl now than the one who had left prison. She was stronger,
more resolute, as if she had been to the depths of hell and back and was ready
to face anything.
“The worst that
can happen has already happened to me,” Deidre said, her voice cold and hard as
the wood before them, a voice too old for her age.
Kyra nodded,
understanding—and together, they set off, entering the tree line.
The moment they
did, Kyra immediately felt a chill, even in this cold night. It was darker
here, more claustrophobic, filled with ancient black trees with gnarled
branches resembling thorns, and thick, black leaves. The wood exuded
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