A Forge of Valor . Морган Райс

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      Duncan’s heart sank at the boy’s words. Part of him wondered if this was a trick, yet he sensed it was all true. He felt himself sinking lower into the earth with each proclamation.

      “All of your men are imprisoned, and Ur is being bombarded by sea. So you see, you have failed miserably. Escalon is far worse off than it was before, and you have no one to blame but yourself.”

      Duncan shook with rage.

      “And how long,” Duncan asked, “until the great oppressor turns on you? Do you really think you shall be exempt, that you will escape Pandesia’s wrath? That they will allow you to be King? To rule as your father once did?”

      Enis smiled wide, resolute.

      “I know that they will,” he said.

      He leaned in close, so close that Duncan could smell his bad breath.

      “You see, I’ve made them a deal. A very special deal to ensure my power, a deal that was too much for them to turn down.”

      Duncan dared not ask what it was, yet Enis smiled wide and leaned in.

      “Your daughter,” he whispered.

      Duncan’s eyes widened.

      “Did you really think you could hide her whereabouts from me?” Enis pressed. “As we speak, Pandesians are closing in on her. And that gift will cement my place in power.”

      Duncan’s shackles rattled, the noise echoing throughout the dungeon, as he struggled with all his might to break free and attack, filled with a despair beyond what he could bear.

      “Why have you come?” Duncan asked, feeling much older, his voice broken. “What is it that you want from me?”

      Enis grinned. He fell silent for a long time, then finally sighed.

      “I believe that my father wanted something of you,” he said slowly. “He would not have summoned you, would not have brokered that deal, unless he did. He offered you a great victory with the Pandesians—and in return, he would have requested something. What? What was it? What secret was he hiding?”

      Duncan stared back, resolute, no longer caring.

      “Your father did wish for something,” he said, rubbing it in. “Something honorable and sacred. Something he could trust with only me. Not his own son. Now I know why.”

      Enis sneered, flushed red.

      “If my men died for anything,” Duncan continued, “it was for this sake of honor and trust—one that I would never break. Which is why you shall never know.”

      Enis darkened, and Duncan was pleased to see him enraged.

      “Would you still guard the secrets of my dead father, the man who betrayed you and all your men?”

      “You betrayed me,” Duncan corrected, “not he. He was a good man who once made a mistake. You, on the other hand, are nothing. You are but a shadow of your father.”

      Enis scowled. He slowly rose to his full height, leaned over, and spit beside Duncan.

      “You will tell me what he wanted,” he insisted. “What—or who—he was trying to hide. If you do, I might just be merciful and free you. If not, I will not only escort you to the gallows myself, but I will see to it that you die the most gruesome death imaginable. The choice is yours, and there is no turning back. Think hard, Duncan.”

      Enis turned to leave, but Duncan called out.

      “You can have my answer now if you wish,” Duncan replied.

      Enis turned, a satisfied look on his face.

      “I choose death,” he replied, and for the first time, managed to smile. “After all, death is nothing next to honor.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      Dierdre, wiping sweat from her forehead as she labored away in the forge, suddenly sat up, jolted by a thunderous noise. It was a distinct noise, one that set her on edge, a noise that rose above the din of all the hammers striking anvils. All the men and women around her stopped, too, laid down their unfinished weapons, and looked out, puzzled.

      It came again, sounding like thunder rolling on the wind, sounding as if the very fabric of the earth were being torn apart.

      Then again.

      Finally, Dierdre realized: iron bells. They were tolling, striking terror in her heart as they slammed again and again, echoing throughout the city. They were bells of warning, of danger. Bells of war.

      All at once the people of Ur jumped up from their tables and rushed out of the forge, all eager to see. Dierdre was first among them, joined by her girls, joined by Marco and his friends, and they all burst outside and entered streets flooded with concerned citizens, all flocking toward the canals to get a better view. Dierdre searched everywhere, expecting, with those bells, to see her city overrun with ships, with soldiers. Yet she did not.

      Puzzled, she headed toward the massive watchtowers perched at the edge of the Sorrow, wanting to get a better view.

      “Dierdre!”

      She turned to see her father and his men, all running for the watchtowers, too, all eager to get an open view of the sea. All four towers rang frantically, something that never happened, as if death itself were approaching the city.

      Dierdre fell in beside her father as they ran, turning down streets and ascending a set of stone steps until they finally reached the top of the city wall, at the edge of the sea. She stopped there, beside him, stunned at the sight before her.

      It was like her worst nightmare come to life, a sight she wished she’d never seen in her lifetime: the entire sea, all the way to the horizon, was filled with black. The black ships of Pandesia, so close together that they covered the water, seemed to cover the entire world. Worst of all, they all bore down in a singular force right for her city.

      Dierdre stood frozen, staring at the coming death. There was no way they could defend against a fleet that size, not with their meager chains, and not with their swords. When the first ships reached the canals, they could bottleneck them, maybe, delay them. They could perhaps kill hundreds or even thousands of soldiers.

      But not the millions she saw before her.

      Dierdre felt her heart ripping in two as she turned and looked to her father, his soldiers, and saw the same silent panic in their faces. Her father put on a brave face before his men, but she knew him. She could see the fatalism in his eyes, see the light fade from them. All of them, clearly, were staring at their deaths, at the end of their great and ancient city.

      Beside her, Marco and his friends looked out with terror, but also with resolve, none of them, to their credit, turning and running away. She searched the sea of faces for Alec, but she was puzzled not to find him anywhere. She wondered where he could have gone. Surely he would not have fled?

      Dierdre stood her ground and tightened her grip on her sword. She knew death was coming for them—she just had not expected it so soon. She was done, though, running from anyone.

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