CHAPTER THREE-1
2004 Words
CHAPTER THREE
Kyra walked slowly back through the gates of Argos, the eyes of all her father’s men upon her, and she burned with shame. She had misread her relationship with Theos. She had thought, stupidly, that she could control him—and instead, he had spurned her before all these men. For the eyes of all to see, she was powerless, had no dominion over a dragon. She was just another warrior—not even a warrior, but just a teenage girl who had led her people into a war they, abandoned by a dragon, could no longer win.
Kyra walked back through the gates of Argos, feeling the eyes on her in the awkward silence. What did they think of her now? she wondered. She did not even know what to think of herself. Had Theos not come for her? Had he only fought this battle for his own ends? Did she have any special powers at all?
Kyra was relieved as the men finally looked away, returned to their looting, all busy gathering weaponry, preparing for war. They rushed to and fro, gathering all the bounty left behind by the Lord’s Men, filling carts, leading away horses, the clang of steel ever present as shields and armor were tossed into piles by the handful. As more snow fell and the sky began to darken, they all had little time to lose.
“Kyra,” came a familiar voice.
She turned and was relieved to see Anvin’s smiling face as he approached her. He looked at her with respect, with the reassuring kindness and warmth of the father figure he had always been. He draped one arm affectionately around her shoulder, smiling wide beneath his beard, and he held out before her a gleaming new sword, its blade etched with Pandesian symbols.
“Finest steel I’ve held in years,” he noted with a broad grin. “Thanks to you, we have enough weapons here to start a war. You have made us all more formidable.”
Kyra took comfort in his words, as she always did; yet she still could not cast off her feeling of depression, of confusion, of being spurned by the dragon. She shrugged.
“I did not do all this,” she replied. “Theos did.”
“Yet Theos returned for you,” he replied.
Kyra glanced up at the gray skies, now empty, and she wondered.
“I’m not so sure.”
They both studied the skies in the long silence that followed, broken only by the wind sweeping through.
“Your father awaits you,” Anvin finally said, his voice serious.
Kyra joined Anvin as they walked, snow and ice crunching beneath their boots, winding their way through the courtyard amidst all the activity. They passed dozens of her father’s men as they trekked through the sprawling fort of Argos, men everywhere, finally relaxed for the first time in ages. She saw them laughing, drinking, jostling each other as they gathered weapons and provisions. They were like children on All Hallow’s Day.
Dozens more of her father’s men stood in a line and passed sacks of Pandesian grain, handing them to each other as they piled carts high; another cart clambered by, overflowing with shields that clanked as it went. It was stacked so high that a few fell over the side, soldiers scrambling to gather them back in. All around her carts were heading out of the fort, some on the road back to Volis, others forking off on different roads to places her father had directed, all filled to the brim. Kyra took some solace in the sight, feeling less bad for the war she had instigated.
They turned a corner and Kyra spotted her father, surrounded by his men, busy inspecting dozens of swords and spears as they held them out for his approval. He turned at her approach and as he gestured to his men, they dispersed, leaving them alone.
Her father turned and looked at Anvin, and Anvin stood there for a moment, unsure, seemingly surprised at her father’s silent look, clearly asking him to leave, too. Finally, Anvin turned and joined the others, leaving Kyra alone with him. She was surprised, too—he never asked Anvin to leave before.
Kyra looked up at him, his expression inscrutable as always, wearing the distant, public face of a leader among men, not the intimate face of the father she knew and loved. He looked down at her, and she felt nervous as so many thoughts raced through her head at once: was he proud of her? Was he upset that she had led them into this war? Was he disappointed that Theos had spurned her and abandoned his army?
Kyra waited, accustomed to his long silence before speaking, and she could not tell anymore; too much had changed between them too fast. She felt as if she had grown up overnight, while he had been changed by recent events; it was as if they no longer knew how to relate to each other. Was he the father she had always known and loved, who would read her stories late into the night? Or was he her commander now?
He stood there, staring, and she realized that he did not know what to say as the silence hung heavy between them, the only sound that of the wind whipping through, the torches flickering behind them as men began to light them to ward off night. Finally, Kyra could stand the silence no longer.
“Will you bring all this back to Volis?” she asked, as a cart rattled by filled with swords.
He turned and examined the cart and seemed to snap out of his reverie. He didn’t look back at Kyra, but rather watched the cart as he shook his head.
“Volis holds nothing for us now but death,” he said, his voice deep and definitive. “We head south now.”
Kyra was surprised.
“South?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Espehus,” he stated.
Kyra’s heart flooded with excitement as she pictured their journey to Espehus, the ancient stronghold perched on the sea, their biggest neighbor to the south. She became even more excited as she realized—if he was going there it could only mean one thing: he was preparing for war.
He nodded, as if reading her mind.
“There is no turning back now,” he said.
Kyra looked back at her father with a sense of pride she had not felt in years. He was no longer the complacent warrior, living his middle years in the security of a small fort—but now the bold commander she once knew, willing to risk it all for freedom.
“When do we leave?” she asked, her heart pounding, anticipating her first battle.
She was surprised to see him shake his head.
“Not we,” he corrected. “I and my men. Not you.”
Kyra was crestfallen, his words like a dagger in her heart.
“Would you leave me behind?” she asked, stammering. “After all that has happened? What else must I do to prove myself to you?”
He shook his head firmly, and she was devastated to see the hardened look in his eyes, a look which she knew meant he would not bend.
“You shall go to your uncle,” he said. It was a command, not a request, and with those words she knew where she stood: she was his soldier now, not his daughter. It hurt her.
Kyra breathed deep—she would not give in so quickly.
“I want to fight alongside you,” she insisted. “I can help you.”
“You will be helping me,” he said, “by going where you’re needed. I need you with him.”
She furrowed her brow, trying to understand.
“But why?” she asked.
He was silent for a long time, until he finally sighed.
“You possess…” he began, “…skills I do not understand. Skills that we will need to win this war. Skills that only your uncle will know how to foster.”
He reached out and held her shoulder meaningfully.
“If you want to help us,” he added, “if you want to help our people, that is where you are needed. I don’t need another soldier—I need the unique talents you have to offer. The skills that no one else has.”
She saw the earnestness in his eyes, and while she felt awful at the prospect of being unable to join him, she felt some reassurance in his words—along with a heightened sense of curiosity. She wondered what skills he was referring to, and wondered who her uncle might be.
“Go and learn what I cannot teach you,” he added. “Come back stronger. And help me win.”
Kyra looked into his eyes, and she felt the respect, the warmth returning, and she began to feel restored again.
“Ur is a long journey,” he added. “A good three-day ride west and north. You will have to cross Escalon alone. You will have to ride quickly, by stealth, and avoid the roads. Word will soon spread of what has happened here—and Pandesian lords will be wrathful. The roads will be dangerous—you will stick to the woods. Ride north, find the sea, and keep it in view. It shall be your compass. Follow its coastline, and you will find Ur. Stay away from villages, stay away from people. Do not stop. Tell no one where you are going. Speak to no one.”
He grabbed her shoulders firmly and his eyes darkened with urgency, scaring her.
“Do you understand me?” he implored. “It is a dangerous journey for any man—much less for a girl alone. I can spare no one to accompany you. I need you to be strong enough to do this alone. Are you?”
She could hear the fear in his voice, the love of a concerned father torn, and she nodded back, feeling pride that he would trust her with such a quest.
“I am, Father,” she said proudly.
He studied her, then finally nodded, as if satisfied. Slowly, his eyes welled with tears.
“Of all my men,” he said, “of all these warriors, you are the one I need the most. Not your brothers, and not even my trusted soldiers. You are the one, the only one, who can win this war.”
Kyra felt confused and overwhelmed; she did not fully understand what he meant. She opened her mouth to ask him—when suddenly she sensed motion approaching.
She turned to see Baylor, her father’s master of horse, approaching with his usual smile. A short, overweight man with thick eyebrows and stringy hair, he approached them with his customary swagger and smiled at her, then looked to her father, as if awaiting his approval.
Her father nodded to him, and Kyra wondered what was going on, as Baylor turned to her.
“I’m told you’ll be taking a journey,” Baylor said, his voice nasal. “For that, you’ll need a horse.”
Kyra frowned, confused.
“I have a horse,” she replied, looking over at the fine horse she’d ridden during the battle with the Lord’s Men, tied up across the courtyard.
Baylor smiled.
“That’s not a horse,” he said.
Baylor looked to her father and her father nodded, and Kyra tried to understand what was happening.
“Follow me,” he said, and without waiting, he suddenly turned and strode off for the stables.
Kyra watched him go, confused, then looked to her dad. He nodded back.
“Follow him,” he said. “You won’t regret it.”
*
Kyra crossed the snowy courtyard with Baylor, joined by Anvin, Arthfael and Vidar, heading eagerly toward the low, stone stables in the distance. As she went, Kyra wondered what Baylor had meant, wondered what horse he had in mind for her. In her mind, one horse was not much different from another.
As they approached the sprawling stone stable, at least a hundred yards long, Baylor turned to her, eyes widening in delight.
“Our Lord’s daughter will need a fine horse to take her wherever it is she is going.”
Kyra’s heart quickened; she had never been given a horse from Baylor before, an honor usually reserved only for distinguished warriors. She’d always dreamed of having one when she was old enough, and when she had earned it. It was an honor that even her older brothers did not enjoy.
Anvin nodded proudly.
“You have earned it,” he said.
“If you can handle a dragon,” Arthfael added with a smile, “you can most certainly handle a master horse.”
As the stables loomed, a small crowd began to gather, joining them as they walked, the men taking a break from their gathering of weapons, clearly curious to see where she was being led. Her two older brothers, Brandon and Braxton, joined them, too, glancing over at Kyra wordlessly, jealousy in their eyes. They looked away quickly, too proud, as usual, to acknowledge her, much less offer her any praise. She, sadly, expected nothing else of them.
- Writer
