Rise of the Valiant (18 page)

As the hornhog
approached, Leo snarled, snapping at the water as he stood at the edge of the
boat. Kyra raised her bow, took aim, and fired, aiming right for its open
mouth.

The arrow lodged
itself in its open mouth, and the hornhog sucked in water and flailed as it
drowned.

Kyra looked back
to shore and saw Andor charge boldly for the pack, even though he was
outnumbered. He must have known he could not win—and yet he did not care. It
was as if fear did not exist within him. She was in awe of him; he was like a
great warrior charging alone against an army.

Kyra could not
stand the sight of him fighting alone—especially on their behalf. It went
against everything inside her.

“ANDOR!” Kyra
shrieked.

“It’s too late,”
Dierdre said, placing a hand on her arm, as their boat drifted farther and
farther from shore, the rapids more violent. “There is nothing we can do.”

But Kyra refused
to accept that. She could not allow her friend, her partner in battle, to be
left behind.

Without
thinking, Kyra let her impulses take over. She rushed forward and leapt off the
boat, into the raging river, instantly submerged in the freezing waters.

Kyra tried to
swim, desperate to reach shore, to reach Andor—but the rapids were just too
intense. She could not make it upstream; she could not even catch her breath.

“KYRA!” Dierdre
yelled, as Leo whined at the boat’s edge.

A moment later,
Kyra found herself flailing, sinking—and realizing, after all that, she would
die by drowning.

Aidan tossed and
turned as he dreamt troubled dreams. He saw his father gushing downriver,
drowning in rapids; he saw another river and his sister, Kyra, flailing as she
tumbled down over waterfalls; he saw the entire Pandesian army invading
Escalon, setting it aflame; and he saw an army of dragons swooping low,
breathing fire over Escalon and burning it to a crisp. The flames of the
dragons met the flames of the Pandesians, and soon Escalon was nothing but one
giant conflagration. Aidan saw himself caught in the middle of it, shrieking,
burned alive.

Aidan woke with
a start, gasping, breathing hard, wanting to cry out; yet some part of him
stopped himself, warning him to stay silent. He felt himself moving, bumping,
and felt hard wood behind his head. He twisted, supremely uncomfortable, and
tried to figure out where he was.

Disoriented,
Aidan looked about, felt a clump of hay in his hand, and noticed hay in his
mouth. He spit it out and as he heard the clatter of horses and felt another
bump, it all came rushing back to him: the wagon.

Aidan remembered
he had been crammed back here, hiding beneath the straw, riding south for what
felt like days—though he knew it could not have been that long. He felt the
hunger gnawing in his stomach, felt the cold in his bones, and realized he had
fallen asleep somewhere along the way. The dreams had seemed so real it took
him a moment to collect himself, and as he began to sit up, he checked himself,
realizing not to sit too high so as to remain undetected. The last thing he’d
want would be to lose his only ride out here, far from home, in the midst of
the Wood of Thorns. There remained a long way to go, he knew, until he reached
his father and his men—wherever they were.

Aidan pondered
the dreams, trying to shake them off but unable to. His heart pounded as he
considered it all. Was his father in danger? Was Kyra? Was Pandesia attacking?
Were the dragons coming to kill them all? He felt more of an urgency to reach
his father than ever.

Aidan leaned
back and looked up at the sky, relieved to see it was still night, giving him
more cover from being detected. The sky jostled by as they rode, the millions
of stars far away, and he wondered about them, as he often did. Aidan had
studied astronomy—along with philosophy, history, reading and writing—as had
his siblings, all of them so fortunate, he knew, to have been given a rare
education typically reserved for the royal family. He was lucky the weak king’s
historian had fled Andros to stay with his father in Volis.

His tutor had
drilled him for years about the star systems, and as Aidan studied them he
recognized the Four Points, and the Seven Daggers; he saw which way they were
turned and he took comfort in realizing he was indeed heading south—though also
a bit west. That could only mean one thing: they were heading to Andros.
Exactly as Aidan had hoped.

Aidan knew his
father was heading south, but was still unsure where. The capital had been his
first guess. After all, wouldn’t his father want to go to the capital first, to
win the old king’s support? And was that not south? That was where Aidan would
find him, he decided. Andros.

The last time
Aidan had been to the capital he had been too young to remember. He imagined
himself entering it now, on the back of this wagon, dismounting and taking it
all in, the greatest city in Escalon, a sight, he knew, which would not
disappoint. He would enter it boldly, fearlessly, make his presence known and
demand to know where his father was. He would be taken right to him, and would
arrive as a welcome hero.

Aidan was
disappointed his father did not have faith in him to let him know where he was
going, to invite him along; he felt certain he could help his cause somehow.
After all, he knew more about the great battles of history than most of his
father’s men. Could he not counsel them on strategy, at least? Why did his
father think one had to be a grown man to achieve great things? After all,
hadn’t Nikor the Great conquered The Plains at fourteen? Hadn’t Carnald the
Cruel taken the Western Half when he was but twelve? Of course, those were
centuries ago, in another time and place. But Aidan refused to be discounted.
He was still a great warrior’s son, even if the youngest and weakest of them.

Aidan was
jostled as the horses hit a ditch, and as he banged his head in the carriage,
he grunted involuntarily.

The carriage
came to a sudden stop, and Aidan immediately slid down beneath the bales of
hay, his heart thumping, terrified, praying he was not discovered. If he was
kicked off this carriage, as far as he was from anything, he knew he could very
well die out here.

Aidan peeked out
and saw the driver, a heavyset, middle-aged man with broad shoulders and a bald
spot on the back of his head, turn and peer back in the night, examining his
carriage. He had a bulbous nose, wide jaws, a low forehead, and the look of a
man who wanted to kill something.

Stupid
, Aidan thought.
Why didn’t you stay put? Why did you make a noise?

He lay there, in
a cold sweat, praying he was not discovered. And as he waited in the night’s
silence, he expected to hear the man jumping down, coming back and grabbing
him.

A moment later,
to Aidan’s surprise, he felt movement and heard the horses walking again. He
was flooded with relief, and he thanked God he had the cover of darkness. He
let out a deep breath, and vowed not to move again all the way until they
reached Andros.

Hour followed
hour, Aidan resting as comfortably as he could with the carriage jostling, and
slowly he found himself drifting back towards sleep. His eyes heavy, he was
nearly dreaming again—when suddenly he felt something moving against his leg.

Aidan lay there,
frozen in fear, wondering. It moved again. Something was in there, in the hay,
with him. Something alive. Could it be a snake had found its way into the hay?

Aidan knew he
should stay still, but he couldn’t help it. He slowly lifted the hay, just
enough to see—and he saw a sight that he would never forget. There, beneath the
hay, were several dead animals—a dead deer, three dead fox, and a dead boar,
all bound by their paws, bound together with coarse twine. Yet that was not
what stunned him; there was one other animal, bound to them, too, that lay
there, bloody, wounded: a small dog. Aidan was even more stunned to see it move
its paw.

It was no
ordinary dog, Aidan could see right away, but a Wood Dog, a wild breed that
lived in the woods, nearly twice the size of a normal dog and rumored to be a
fierce animal. This one had a white coat, short hair, a thick muscular body, a
long, narrow jaw, and piercing, soulful green eyes which stared up helplessly
at Aidan. It lay on its side, breathing hard, clearly in pain, moving its paw
limply. It was, Aidan was pained to see, dying. Aidan saw the gash across the
animal’s leg and saw it look at him with a look of desperation. It was a plea
for help.

Aidan’s heart
broke. There was nothing he hated to see more than a wounded animal. He
immediately recalled the banner of his house, a knight holding a wolf, and he
knew it was also his family’s sacred obligation to save any animal in need.
Obligation or not, he could not let any animal suffer.

Aidan recalled
that Wood Dogs, despite their tame appearance, were even more dangerous than
wolves. He had been cautioned not to go near one. And yet as Aidan studied it,
he did not sense it wished to harm him; on the contrary, he felt a connection
to this animal. He burned with anger that it had been treated this way, and he
knew he could not let it die.

Aidan sat there,
torn up inside. He knew that if he tried to free it, or help it, he would be
discovered. That would mean his being abandoned here in the middle of this
wood—which, in turn, would mean death. The cost of saving this creature would
be high—it would be his own life. And for a dying animal.

Yet Aidan didn’t
care. What mattered most to him was doing the right thing.

Aidan crawled
through the hay, trying to stay low, reached over, and stroked the dog’s fur.
He expected it to bite him, given what he knew about the breed, but he was
shocked to see the dog, perhaps because it was wounded, whine and lick his
hand.

“Shhh,” Aidan
tried to soothe him. “You’ll be okay.” Aidan examined its white hide, and said,
“I shall call you White.”

White whined, as
if in approval.

Aidan glanced
up, relieved the driver had not spotted him, and examined White’s wound. He
tore a strip off his tunic and wrapped it around the dog’s leg, and as it did,
White whined louder. Aidan quickly pulled a piece of dried meat from his sack
and placed it in his mouth, trying to quiet him.

White chewed
weakly, his eyes half closed, and Aidan sensed he was very weak. He seemed to
be gravely injured, and Aidan wondered if he would live.

Yet after he
swallowed it, to Aidan’s surprise, White opened his eyes wide and appeared to
have a burst of energy. He looked directly at Aidan with a grateful look, and
Aidan felt they were bonded for life. Aidan knew he could not walk away from
this animal—whatever the cost. He had to free it.

Aidan removed
his small dagger from his belt and quickly severed the ropes binding White’s
paws, and a moment later, he was free.

White sat up and
looked at Aidan with what appeared to be a look of surprise. He began to wag
his tail.

“Shhhh,” Aidan
said, “don’t move. Or we shall both be discovered.”

But White was
too excited—and Aidan could not control him as he burst to his feet, sending
hay everywhere in a big commotion. Aidan’s heart stopped, knowing they would be
discovered.

Sure enough, a
moment later the carriage came to a jolting stop, slamming Aidan’s head on the
wood rail. Hardly had the horses stopped when the driver jumped down and came
running around the back.

Aidan saw an
angry man standing there, hands on his hips, scowling down at them both. He
appeared surprised to see the dog alive, more surprised to see him free, and
furious to see Aidan sitting there.

“Who are you,
boy?” the man demanded.  “And what are you doing on my cart?” The man then
scowled at the dog. “And what have you done with my kill?”

“I have freed
him,” Aidan said back proudly, standing, chest out, an indignant feeling
overtaking him and giving him courage. “He is a beautiful animal you tried to
kill. Shame on you.”

The man fumed,
turning bright red, visible even beneath the starlight.

“How dare you
talk back to me, you insolent little boy!” the man said. “That is my game to do
with as I wish!”

“He is not!”
Aidan “He is a dog! And he is free now!”

“
Free
, is
he!?” the man spat, apoplectic, taking a threatening step forward.

But Aidan felt
an unfamiliar strength overcoming him as he thought of saving the dog. He knew
he was in a precarious position, and he realized he needed to make his best
effort to scare this man away once and for all.

“My father is
warlord of Volis!” Aidan stated firmly, proudly. “He has a thousand men at his
command. If you lay a hand on me, or on this creature, I shall have you
imprisoned!”

The man huffed,
and Aidan was disappointed to see he was unimpressed.

“Stupid little
boy. Do you really think I care who your father is?” the man shot back. “You
are in my cart. And that is my game. I am going to kill him—and when I’m done
I’m going to give you a proper pounding.”

The man rushed
forward, raised his fist, and before Aidan could react, he brought it down
quickly on the dog’s skull.

Aidan was
horrified to watch White yelp and slide backwards, off the cart, landing on the
frozen ground with a thud.

The man reached
up to punch the dog again, death in his eyes, and this time, Aidan reacted
without thinking. He held out his dagger and lunged forward, and before the man
could hit White, he sliced the man’s armpit.

The man
shrieked, stumbling back, grabbing his armpit, dripping blood. He slowly turned
and scowled at Aidan, death in his eyes.

“You’re a dead
boy now,” he said darkly.

The man lunged forward,
too quick for Aidan to react, grabbed Aidan’s wrist, shook the dagger from it,
then grabbed him from behind and threw him.

Aidan felt
himself go flying through the air, off the cart. He landed face-first in the
mud, winded, pain rippling through his body.

Aidan tried to
scramble to his knees, but before he could, the man rushed forward and kicked
him in the ribs with his huge boot.

Aidan had never
felt such pain his life, feeling as if all his ribs were cracking as he rolled
in the mud. Before he could catch his breath, he felt rough hands grabbing him
as he was hoisted into the air.

“Stupid,” the
man said. “To risk your life for a dog—and a dead one at that.”

He threw him,
and Aidan, airborne, hit the ground, tumbling, harder than before, seeing stars,
unable to breathe.

Aidan turned on
his back, groaning, and looked up. He saw the man step forward, raise his boot,
aim it for his face, and he could see from the look in his eyes that this man
was evil, a cruel man, a heartless man. He would be good to his word: he would
kill Aidan. And Aidan would die out here in the woods, alone, far from
everyone, on this black and cold night—and not a soul would ever know.