Rise of the Dragons (Kings and Sorcerers--Book 1)

Chapter 7

Kyra sat in her father's chamber, a small stone room on the upper floors of their fort with high, tapered ceilings and a massive marble fireplace, blackened from years of use, and they each stared in the gloomy silence. They sat on opposite sides of the fire, each on a pile of furs, staring at the crumbling logs as they crackled and hissed.

Kyra's mind spun from the news as she stroked Leo's fur, curled up at her feet, and it was still hard to believe it was true. Change had finally come to Escalon, and it felt as if this were the day her life had ended. She stared into the flames, wondering what was left to live for if Pandesia would snatch her away from her family, her fort, from all she knew and loved and wed her to some grotesque Lord Governor. She would rather die.

Kyra usually took comfort in being here, this room, where she had spent countless hours reading, getting lost in tales of valor and sometimes of legends, tales which she never quite knew were fact or fantasy. Her father liked to comb his ancient books and read them aloud, sometimes into the early hours of the morning, chronicles of a different time, a different place. Most of all, Kyra loved the stories of the warriors, of the great battles. Leo was always at her feet and Aidan often joined them; on more than one sunrise, Kyra would return bleary-eyed to her chamber, drunk on the stories. She loved to read even more than she loved weapons, and as she looked at the walls of her father's chamber, lined with bookcases, filled with scrolls and leather-bound volumes passed down for generations, she wished she could get lost in them now.

But as she glanced at her father, his grim face, it brought back their awful reality. This was no night for reading. She had never seen her father look so disturbed, so conflicted, as if for the first time he was unsure what action to take. Her father, she knew, was a proud man—all of his men were proud—and in the days when Escalon had a king, a capital, a court to rally around, all would have given up their lives for their freedom. It was not her father's way to surrender, to barter. But the old King had sold them out, had surrendered on their behalf, had left them all in this terrible position. As a fragmented, dispersed army, they could not fight an enemy already lodged in their midst.

"It would have been better to have been defeated that day in battle," her father said, his voice heavy, "to have faced Pandesia nobly and lost. The old King's surrender was a defeat anyway—just a long, slow, cruel one. Day after day, year after year, one freedom after the next is taken from us, each one making us slightly less of a man."

Kyra knew he was right; yet she could also understand King Tarnis's decision: Pandesia covered half the world. With their vast army of slaves they could have laid waste to Escalon until there was nothing left. They never would have backed down, however many millions of men it took. At least now Escalon was intact, its people alive—if one could call this life.

"For them, this is not about taking our girls," her father continued, his speech punctuated by the crackling fire. "This is about power. About subjugation. About crushing what is left of our souls."

Her father stared into the flames and she could see he was staring into his past and his future all at once. Kyra prayed that he would turn and tell her that the time had come to fight, to stand up for what they all believed in, to make a stand. That he would never let her be taken away.

But instead, to her increasing disappointment and anger, he sat there silently, staring, brooding, not offering her the assurances she needed. She had no idea what he was thinking, especially after their earlier argument.

"I remember a time when I served the King," he said slowly, his deep, strong voice setting her at ease, as it always had, "when all the land was one. Escalon was invincible. We had only to man The Flames to hold back the trolls and the Southern Gate to hold back Pandesia. We were a free people for centuries, and that was always how it was supposed to be."