Rise of the Valiant (17 page)

“I don’t know
the answer,” Duncan called out. “But we shall find out.”

“And if they
refuse to join us?” Seavig asked. “Then what? Climbing those peaks is no small
risk.”

Duncan looked up
and studied the steep ascent, and he wondered the same thing. He would be
leading his men up a perilous path—what if it was all for naught?

“They will
descend,” Duncan finally said. “They will join us. Because the men of Kos whom
I know would not refuse an invitation to freedom.”

“Whose freedom?”
Seavig asked. “Theirs or ours?”

Duncan pondered
his words as they all fell back into silence, the rapids gaining speed,
bringing them ever farther down the Thusius. It was a fine question, indeed.
Climbing those peaks would indeed be a risk—and he prayed it would not all be
for naught.

Duncan heard an
unfamiliar noise and as he looked over at Seavig, wondering. He was surprised
to find his friend studying the river, fear in his eyes for the first time.

“The swirls!”
Seavig cried.

His men all blew
their horns at once, and Seavig shoved with his pole, desperately trying to
move his raft to the far side of the river. Duncan and his men followed,
steering their rafts to the far side of the river, and as they did, Duncan
looked over to the middle of the river and was shocked by what he saw. There
were a series of small whirlpools, twisting and turning, making a great noise,
sucking everything in their path down into it. It consumed much of the river,
leaving only a narrow strip to navigate past, forcing their great army to
cruise alongside the edge of the river single file.

Duncan looked
back over his shoulder, taking stock of his men, and his heart dropped to see
one of his rafts not get out of the way fast enough. He watched with horror as
it was sucked into the whirlpool, his men shrieking as they spun again and
again, instantly sucked down to the bottom of the river.

Duncan
reflexively tried to jump in after them, even though he was a good fifty yards
away, but Seavig reached out with his pole and held it against his chest,
stopping him, while Duncan’s men grabbed his shoulders.

“You jump in,
you’re a dead man,” Seavig said. “The more who follow, the more will die.
Without you, far more men will die. Is that what you wish?”

Duncan stood
there, torn inside, feeling as if he were going down with his men. Deep down,
he knew Seavig was right. He had no choice but to grit his teeth and watch his
men, from afar, disappear in the currents.

Duncan turned
back, reluctantly, looked ahead, downriver, as the swirls disappeared and the
currents went back to normal. He cursed this place. Nothing pained him more
than to watch the death of his men—and to be helpless to do anything about it.
It was the price of being a leader, he knew. He was no longer just one of the
men; he was responsible for each and every one.

“I am sorry, my
friend,” Seavig said with a heavy voice. “It is the price of the Thusius. The
land would, I’m sure, carry its own dangers.”

Duncan noticed
the fear in the faces of the soldiers on the raft with him, including his two
sons, and he could not help but think of Kyra. He wondered where she was now.
Had she reached Whitewood yet? Had she made it to the sea?

Most of all, was
she safe?

He had a pit in
his stomach as he thought of her, practically alone out there. He remembered,
of course, her power, her incredible skills in combat; yet still, she was but a
girl, hardly a woman yet, and Escalon was an unforgiving place. It was a quest
she needed to take, for her benefit, yet still, he doubted himself. Had it been
a mistake to send her on the journey alone? What if she didn’t make it? He
would never be able to live with himself again.

Most of all, he
wondered: who would she become during her training? Who would she be when she
returned to him? He was both in awe of the powers he knew she had—and afraid of
them.

Duncan looked
out and watched the ever-changing landscape, the climate cooling as they neared
the immense mountains. The grass shores bordering the river slowly gave way to
bogs the further south they went, long stretches of river bank bordered by
reeds, marshes. Duncan saw exotic, brightly colored animals raise their heads
in the reeds and snap at the air before disappearing just as quickly.

Hour followed
hour, the Thusius ever twisting and turning. The weather grew colder, the spray
stronger, and soon Duncan felt his hands and feet growing numb. The mountains
loomed ever larger, closer and closer, feeling as if they were just an arm’s
reach away, though he knew they still had hours to go. Duncan searched for his
horses out there, hoping, but saw none.

Duncan did not
know how many hours had passed, holding his pole, studying the currents, when
suddenly he noticed Seavig gesture in the raft beside him. As they rounded a
bend, he noticed a disturbance in the water up ahead. Something was foaming and
churning in the waters, even though the water here was calm. It was as if a
school of fish might be beneath it.

Duncan studied
it, confused, and as they neared, he thought he saw something leap from the
water. He looked over to Seavig, and for the first time since they began this
journey together, he saw real fear in his friend’s face.

“River sharks!”
Seavig shrieked. “Get down!”

His men dropped
to their stomachs on their rafts while Duncan watched, puzzled. Before he and
his men could get down, he suddenly looked out and saw, with horror, what they
were talking about: there, up ahead, was a school of massive sharks, thirty
feet long, leaping from the river, soaring through the air in a high arch and
crashing back down. There were dozens of them, and as the churning moved, they
were all clearly heading upriver—right for them.

Duncan watched,
mesmerized, horrified, as he saw their massive jaws, their rows of sharpened
teeth, their glowing red eyes, filled with fury as they sailed through the air
and came upriver, right for them. Everything inside him told him to get
down—but it was too late. It all happened too quickly, and by the time he
understood, there was no time to react.

He stared a
shark in the face as it began to descend right for him, jaws wide open, and he
knew that here, on this river, he had finally met a foe he would not defeat.
Here, amidst these currents, his end had come.

Kyra sat in the
cave before the crackling fire, leaned back against the warm rock wall and
breathed deep, finally relaxed. Finally, they were dry, warm, out of the wind
and rain, her belly was full, and she was able to feel her hands and feet again.
Her muscles ached, slowly coming back to themselves. The cave was filled with
the smells of roasting chickens, and the fire in this small space emitted more
warmth than she had expected. For the first time, she felt she could let her
guard down.

Beside her, Dierdre
leaned back, too, also full, content, while Leo, his head in her lap, was
already snoring. At the entrance to the cave, just outside, in the night, Andor
stood guard with Dierdre’s mare, each tied up and happily munching on their
sacks of feed, the rain having finally stopped. Kyra had tried to get Andor to
come inside and rest, but he had no interest.

Kyra closed her
eyes for a moment, exhausted, having been awake for she did not know how many
days, and she reflected. After they’d left that tavern they had crossed the
River Tanis and had entered Whitewood, another forest, although this one filled
with beautiful white trees and leaves and having a more peaceful energy. The
Wood of the West, Dierdre had called it. Kyra had been so relieved to be out of
the darkness of the Wood of Thorns, and to now, at least, have the ocean in
hearing distance. It would be her guide, she knew, all the way to Ur.

They had
continued in Whitewood until Leo had spotted this cave, and Kyra thanked God
for it. She did not know how much longer they all could have gone on without a
rest, a chance to dry off, to eat. She had just meant to stay for a few
minutes, but they all, once settled, felt so rested here, on the soft earthen
floor, the fire crackling at their feet, that they all settled in. Kyra
realized the wisdom in staying put: she did not see the point of continuing on
at night, and with everyone so exhausted.

Kyra closed her
eyes and let herself drift off into her thoughts. She thought first of her
father, wondering where he was now. Had he made it south? Did he reach Esephus?
Was he in combat right now? Was he thinking of her? Did he care about her? And
most of all: would he be proud of her?

And what of
Aidan? Was he all alone in Volis?

Kyra, eyes
heavy, so tired, let them close for just a moment. She was drifting in and out
of sleep, when a sudden noise awakened her. She opened her eyes and was shocked
to see that dawn had broken. She could not believe she had slept that long.

She realized the
source of the sound: Leo. He stood beside her, snarling, hair rising on his
back, protective of her, staring at the entrance to the cave.

Immediately,
Kyra sat up, heart pounding, on guard.

“Leo, what is
it, boy?” she asked.

But he ignored
her, instead creeping toward the entrance, his hair stiffening as his snarling
became more vicious. Kyra sat bolt upright, gripping her staff, listening. But
she could not hear a thing.

Kyra wondered
what could be lurking outside, how long she had slept. She stood and poked Dierdre
with her staff, until Dierdre woke and sat up, too. They both watched Leo as he
crept toward the entrance.

“LEO!” Kyra
cried.

There suddenly
came a horrific snarling noise, followed by a stampede of hooves and a great
cloud of dust racing past the cave. Kyra and Dierdre raced for the entrance as
another stampede came, Kyra wondering what on earth that was.

Kyra reached the
entrance, Andor snarling, too, and looked out and saw several deer running past
the cave. She realized, with dread, that they were fleeing something. Something
bigger.

Kyra turned to
her right and spotted, about a hundred yards away, a pack of beasts running her
way. At first she thought she was seeing things, yet the coming cloud of dust
and thunderous noise told her it was no illusion. The creatures were each the
size of a small rhino, with a black hide adorned with yellow stripes and two
slim horns at the tip of their nose that ran straight up, a good ten feet.
There were six of them, and they all charged right for them, their eyes glowing
red, filled with fury.

“Hornhogs!”
Dierdre cried out. “They must have smelled our food!”

Dierdre quickly
mounted her horse while Kyra mounted Andor—and they all took off, Leo beside
them, heading into the wood, hoping to outrun them.

As she rode,
Kyra scratched by branches still wet from the long rain, she marveled at how
different the wood was on this side of the river. The trees were all white, the
branches white, the leaves white, quite beautiful, the world glistening as they
rode, catching her eye even as she rode for her life. They rode south, using
the River Tanis as a guide, hearing its gushing as they went. Kyra had hoped to
wake rested and refreshed, but now she was startled, still unsure if she were
awake or having a terrible dream.

Kyra checked
back over her shoulder, hoping the hornhogs would be out of sight, especially
given Andor’s speed—yet was dismayed to see they were not. They were, in fact,
closer. They were incredibly fast creatures, especially for their size, and
they bore down right for them, like hornets on a trail.

Kyra kicked
Andor, but it was no use. Andor was faster than Dierdre’s mare, and Kyra gained
some distance on her—yet even so, he was not fast enough to outrun the beasts.
Kyra realized she could not let too much distant come between her and her
friend.

No sooner had
she had the thought when suddenly Kyra heard a cry, followed by a horse’s
shriek and a rumble. She looked back and was horrified to see the lead hornhog,
faster than the others, had caught up to Dierdre and her mare. It pounced,
piercing the mare with its long horns, then sank its fangs into the mare’s
back.

The mare went
tumbling down, and Kyra was horrified to see her friend go down, too. She flew
off the mare and rolled into the wood, while the hornhog, preoccupied, attacked
the mare, tearing it to shreds as it shrieked. Kyra knew it was only a matter
of time until it set its sights on Dierdre.

The pack soon
caught up, all of them distracted as they pounced on the mare and tore it to
bits.

Kyra could not
let her friend wallow there. She turned Andor around and charged for Dierdre,
Leo at her side. She rode up beside her, reached down, grabbed her hand, and
yanked her up. Dierdre sat behind her and they all turned and took off, while
the hornhogs, preoccupied, continued to devour their kill, fighting over the
pieces of the horse.

Kyra tore
through Whitewood at a gallop, and Kyra was sure, given Andor’s blazing speed,
that they would soon put a great distance between them.

But her heart
dropped as she heard a familiar sound behind her: a hornhog broke away from the
pack, its face covered in blood, and hunted them down, still not satisfied.

The creature
bore down them, and Leo, snarling, suddenly stopped, turned and charged.

“LEO!” Kyra
shrieked.

But Leo would
not be deterred. He leapt into the air and met it head on, sinking his fangs
into the hornhog’s throat, catching it off guard and driving it to the ground,
despite its size.

Kyra watched in
shock, so proud of Leo’s courage, but was amazed to see that, for the first time,
her wolf’s razor sharp fangs were unable to puncture a creature’s hide, as
thick as it was. The hornhog merely rolled on its back and threw Leo, who went
flying onto his back. The hornhog then charged for the prone wolf.

Kyra, horrified,
saw that it was about to kill Leo, and that she would not reach him in time.

“NO!” Kyra
shrieked.

Her reflexes
kicked in. Without thinking, she grabbed her bow, placed an arrow, raised it,
and took aim.

Her heart
slammed as she watched the arrow sail through the air, praying that it hit its
mark, with barely time to take aim.

The arrow hit
the hornhog in its eye, a powerful shot that would have felled any other beast.

But not this
one. The hornhog shrieked in agony and, furious, turned away from Leo and set
its sights, instead, on her. It reached up with its paw and merely snapped the
arrow in two, then snarled at her, death in its eyes. At least Leo’s life had
been spared.

It charged and
Kyra had no time to reload another arrow; it was too close, and too fast, and
she knew that in but a moment it would tear her apart.

There came a
vicious snarl, even more vicious than that of the hornhog, and Kyra suddenly
felt Andor lunge beneath her. Andor snarled, lowered its horns, and charged
with a ferocity unlike any Kyra had ever seen. As it bucked, it was all Kyra
could do just to hang on.

A moment later
there came a tremendous impact as the two creatures met, like the world shaking
beneath her. Andor’s horns gored the hornhog in the side, and the hornhog
shrieked in true despair. Kyra was shocked to witness Andor lift the immense
creature high in the air, impaled on its horns, overhead, as if displaying a
trophy of his kill.

Andor threw it,
and it flew through the wood and landed with a thud, lifeless.

Whistling at Leo
to follow, Kyra kicked Andor, and the group of them turned and took off at a
gallop, running back through the wood, Kyra trying to get as much distance as
she could from the rest of the pack, knowing this was a battle she did not want
to fight—and a battle they all could not win. She hoped and prayed that the
hornhogs were gorged, and that with one of their own dead, maybe they would
think twice about pursuing any further.

She was wrong.
Kyra heard a familiar sound behind her, and her heart dropped as she soon
realized the rest of the pack was after them. Relentless, they chased them down
through the rustling leaves, all as determined as ever. The death of one of
their own only seemed to embolden them. These tenacious creatures did not seem
as if they would ever quit.

Given their
numbers, Kyra knew their situation was desperate: there was no way Andor and
Leo could defeat all of them at once. She felt a sudden panic as she knew they
would all die by these creatures’ hands.

“We won’t make
it!” Dierdre cried out, fear in her voice, as she looked back at the pack,
snarling and closing in.

Kyra wracked her
brain, thinking hard as they galloped, realizing they needed another way—and
fast. She closed her eyes and focused, forcing herself to tune in, to draw on
all her faculties to save them. Despite the chaos all around them, she grew
very quiet inside.

Kyra suddenly
began to hear a noise, one she had not heard before. She opened her eyes as she
focused on the sound of gushing water, and she remembered: the River Tanis.
They were heading parallel to it, and it was hardly a hundred yards to their
left. She suddenly had an idea.

“The river!” she
shouted to Dierdre, remembering all those flat, wooden rafts she’d seen tied up
along its shores. “We can take the river!”

 Kyra suddenly
pulled Andor’s reins, making a sharp left, heading toward the water; as she
did, the hornhogs, but feet behind them, leapt through the air and missed,
falling flat on their faces on the ground. The sharp turn bought them some
time.

Kyra dug her
heels into Andor and they galloped at full speed, as the sound of water grew
louder. She raced past branches, weaving in and out of trees, scratched and no
longer caring, breathing hard, hearing the pack behind them and knowing their
time was limited.

Come on
, she thought,
urging the river to appear.
Come on!

They finally
burst out of the wood, into a clearing, and there, before them, the river lay
in sight, hardly thirty yards away.

“What about
Andor?” Dierdre cried out as they neared.

Kyra set her
sights on a wide, flat boat, tied up at its shore and realized it would serve
their needs.

“That will hold
us all!” she cried back, pointing.

Kyra yanked
Andor to a stop near the shoreline, and they all dismounted immediately. Kyra
hit the ground running and raced for the shore, jumping onto the wildly rocking
boat, Leo at her side, Dierdre beside her. She made room for Andor, yanking on
his reins, but she was shocked as she felt him resist.

Andor stood on
shore and refused to follow, bucking like crazy, and Kyra wondered what it
could be. At first she thought that perhaps he feared water. But then Andor
gave her a meaningful look and she suddenly understood: he was not afraid. He
meant to stay behind and guard their rear, to fight the hornhogs to the death,
alone, so that they could all escape without him.

Kyra was
overwhelmed by his loyalty, but she could not leave him behind.

“No, Andor!”
Kyra cried.

She went to get
back off the boat and get him.

But Andor
suddenly lowered his head and used his sharp horns to sever the rope. Kyra felt
the boat jerk out from under her and immediately it was carried away by the
rough tides, drifting quickly away from shore.

Kyra stood at
the edge of the boat and watched, helpless, as Andor turned around, on shore,
and faced off against the pack. She saw one of the hornhogs race past him, and
was amazed to watch it leap into the water, swimming as fast as it ran, and
treading right for their boat. She was shocked to see these hornhogs could
swim, and she suddenly realized: Andor knew. He knew that if he didn’t stay
behind, they could all be attacked in the water. He was sacrificing for them
all.