Cannons boomed in the night, and cannonballs splashed in the water all around him, getting too close to his ship. The Pandesian fleet was closing in with each second, and Seavig looked out and saw thousands of ships all now directed toward the harbor, all turning their attention to him. They finally realized that he had been the culprit all along, the one who had commandeered their ship and set hundreds of their other ships aflame. Now, they wanted vengeance.
Seavig knew he had little time left before he and all his men were killed. If he were to succeed in his risky plan, now was his final chance. The dragging of chains, music to his ears, continued as they sailed across the harbor. He glanced back at the stern of the ship and saw the massive spiked chains being dragged, towed underwater in the blackness, just out of sight of the Pandesians. He ran over and helped his men as two of them fell overboard, dragging the chains as they had for hours across the harbor.
He looked ahead, and he saw they were nearly there. Just a hundred more feet, and they would make the far side of the harbor, be able to affix the chain to the stone wall and seal off the harbor for good. If they did, the thousands of ships pursuing him would sail right into their deaths, their hulls cracked to bits on the spiked, submerged chain.
As for the hundreds more Pandesian ships trapped inside the harbor, Seavig had another idea. But first he had to destroy the fleet pursuing him.
“FASTER!” he called out to his men.
A fierce splashing arose as his dozens of men rowed even faster. They heaved on the long oars, the splashing cutting into the night. Seavig had never made his men work so hard, some rowing, some fighting back, firing arrows back into the night, while still more raised shields and blocked for the others. He ran over and helped them row, yet still, too many of his men fell, their cries and shouts piercing the night.
Seavig suddenly winced in pain as an arrow, sailing through the night, found a spot through his shoulder. He slumped down, dropping his oar, seated at the head of his men, and clutched the wound. He gritted his teeth and shrieked as he broke the arrow in half and extracted it, leaving the arrowhead in. Face drenched in sweat, he took a deep breath and forced himself to continue to row, despite the pain. He could feel his men looking at him with surprise and pride, and he knew he had to set an example.
Seavig rowed and rowed, looking to the harbor wall, his arm and shoulder burning, not knowing how much longer he could go on. Finally, to his immense relief, he felt the ship’s hull hitting stone. The whole ship shook with the impact, and they came to a sudden stop.
Seavig jumped to his feet, wasting no time.
“THE CHAINS!” he yelled.
The men at the stern grabbed the chain and pulled with all their might as they yanked it across the deck. They formed a line, each man handing off the chain links to the next, as it made its way along the length of the ship.
Seavig rushed to the bow and looked down into the waters below and spotted a huge iron hook affixed to the stone wall of the shore; covered in rust, it had clearly stood there for thousands of years. His ancestors had affixed it there for times like this, times when their harbor was invaded, when their nation was in danger. It had, after all, always been the way of the men of Escalon to prepare for times of war. It was the same in all the major port cities, and in his own city of Esephus, too. Which was why Seavig knew exactly where to look.
Seavig, holding the chain, looked down at the steep drop and knew there was no other choice. Someone had to affix it, and he did not want to leave such a risky job to his men. It was now or never.
Seavig let out a cry as he jumped through the air, holding the chain, and fell twenty feet toward the black harbor below. A moment later he was submerged in the icy waters, losing his breath, still clutching the chain as he kicked his feet, struggling to surface.
Finally, he did, gasping for air, shaking off the shock of the cold, and began to swim as best he could while dragging the heavy chain.
Seavig, gasping with every breath, the wound in his arm bleeding into the water, killing him, finally reached the sea wall. He clawed at the slippery, moss-covered stone and fell back into the water too many times. He reached up again and caught a finger in a crack, jammed his boot in an indent and pulled his way up, still holding the chain, freezing, blood oozing from his wound.
Seavig managed to claw his way up several feet, arms shaking, knowing he was in danger of falling at any moment. He looked up and saw the huge hook above, yet it was feet away. It might as well have been a mile away.
Come on, he willed himself. Don’t give up.
Seavig reached with the chain high overhead, hands shaking as he tried again and again to slip it over the hook. It was just too high.
Come on.
He thought of Duncan, thought of all the great warriors of Escalon, and he felt a strength rise within him, a primal strength he always knew he had. He groaned as he stretched, and finally, he slipped it over the hook. He yanked on it to make sure it was secure, and just as he did, he fell backwards, into the waters.
Duncan quickly surfaced and looked up. It was a beautiful sight. From here, all the way to the other side of the harbor, the chain stretched, hundreds of feet across, hiding just below the surface. He tested it and it snapped to, taut, spiked, menacing. It would be a thing of death for the thousands of Pandesian ships sure to follow them into the harbor.
Seavig swam to his ship as his men threw down ropes, and grabbed hold as his men pulled him up. He held on tight as his men hauled him up.
Seavig, breathing heavily, landed on deck as his men grabbed him and pulled him over, embracing him.
Now on this side of the harbor, Seavig felt protected, knowing the only way the fleet could reach him was by sailing through that chain. He looked out and was thrilled to see thousands of Pandesian ships following, all rushing to catch up with each other. They were all so tight, moving so fast, so bent on vengeance, that they would be unable to turn around in time. It would be a slaughter.
Yet he knew there was no time to celebrate yet.
“TO THE LOCKS!” he cried.
His men rushed into action, redirecting the ship as they sailed for shore. They sailed as far from the chains as they could—and he braced himself as moments later, the first unsuspecting Pandesian ship sailed right into it.
The sharp sound of cracking wood cut through the air, like lightning. Seavig watched with a feeling of awe and victory as the first Pandesian ship buckled, its soldiers looking around perplexed, wondering what they could possibly be sailing into as they looked overboard. Yet they had no time to figure it out. Within moments, the ship buckled into itself and sank, bow first. Soldiers shrieked as they fell like ants, sliding off the deck and into the waters, immediately dragged down by the currents and their heavy armor.
Dozens more ships followed in their wake, sailing full speed into the chains, all trying to pursue Seavig into the harbor. Their bloodlust got the better of them, and their ships cracked and broke up into the quickly forming graveyard in the sea. The chains held, and Seavig’s men let out a cheer as it was clear they were now safe from the main Pandesian fleet, locked out of the harbor.
Soon the water was littered with the wood of thousands of Pandesian ships, debris piled high. Floating amongst these were the corpses of thousands more soldiers, floating on their stomachs, food for the sharks that quickly materialized and snatched them up. The destruction and chaos was intense as the Pandesian fleet was dismantled ship by ship.
Seavig now prepared himself to fight the battle on the other front. He turned and looked back to shore, and he remembered they were not safe yet. There were still hundreds more Pandesian ships here, inside the harbor, on this side of the chain line. They began to rally, to close in on Seavig, and he knew he had to do something quick or die at their hands.
“THE LOCKS!” he cried again.
Seavig steered his ship toward the massive stone levers which he knew would be embedded in the side of Ur’s original canals. He had sailed this
harbor many times as a boy with his father’s fleet, and he knew all the locks’ locations, the same locations the locks were placed in Esephus. In times of war, the locks could be used to drain the harbor, to drain the canals, and to spare the city an attack by water. If the locks could be lowered, the seawall could be raised, protecting the harbor, sealing it off from the sea, and draining the city. It was, Seavig knew, the key to final victory.
Their ship finally slammed into the seawall, and Seavig wasted no time. He raced across the deck with his men, and they reached out and threw ropes, securing their ship to the wall. They all crowded in and reached out, desperate to grab hold of the massive stone lever. Seavig led the way, and he reached out and grabbed hold of the ancient lever, as big as he, protruding from the seawall. Several of his men joined in as he pushed down with all he had, all of them groaning from the effort.
Yet it would not budge.
A cannon boomed, a cannonball splashed in the water beside their ship, and Seavig, sweating, turned to see the ships closing in. He knew that their next shot would be accurate. He had no time. If these locks failed, he and his men would surely die here.
“HARDER!” Seavig cried. “Push with all you have!”
Dozens more of his men rushed forward, and as one, they all pushed harder and harder, yanking at the ancient stone lever until their hands turned raw. Seavig thought he might die from the effort.
And then, finally, it happened. To Seavig’s joy, the massive lever began to budge. There came the sound of stone scraping stone, as inch by inch, it began to move.
They gained momentum, and there came a great whooshing noise. Seavig looked over and was amazed as he watched the ancient seawall rising up through the waters, higher and higher, slowly sealing off the harbor. They groaned from the effort as they slowly finished securing the lock and the seawall rose all the way, blocking off the harbor of Ur from the rest of the sea.
At the same time, huge drainage pipes were opened alongside the canals, and the sound of gushing water filled the air. The waters that had flooded the city of Ur began to recede as quickly as they had flooded it. It drained so quickly that Seavig felt his ship rocking beneath him, and he looked down to see his boat sinking as the water level dropped, lower and lower.
Seavig felt his stomach dropping as they sank a hundred feet within a minute. As they did, the Pandesian ships in the harbor sank with them. Slowly, all the ancient buildings of the city of Ur began to appear again, as if rising from the grave. Seavig’s heart was lifted as, foot by foot, the city rose again.
Seavig’s ship was soon sitting on dry land, on the seabed, in a dry harbor. He looked out and saw the hundreds of Pandesian ships on dry ground now, too. They all looked down, baffled, clearly not expecting this. Their ships’ hulls, tapered at the bottom, began to sway as they hit the mud, then started to topple.
Moments later, the first ship keeled over, falling flat on its side.
Thousands of Pandesian soldiers, shrieking, fell fifty feet from their ships, down to the muddy ground, some dying on impact. The ones who survived scurried to regain their footing, then drew swords and rushed to attack Seavig’s men.
Seavig would not wait for them.
“Men of Escalon, attack!” Seavig yelled.
He led his men as he grabbed onto the thick ropes and slid his way down to the ground, right before their own ship toppled in the mud. He drew his sword and charged across the muddy ground, his men joining him.
The Pandesians met them in the middle in a great clash of weaponry. Seavig raised his sword high and threw himself into the group of Pandesians, slashing two men at a time, not even slowing to raise his shield. He wheeled around and smashed one with the hilt of his sword in the nose, stabbed another, spun and elbowed a third, and kicked a fourth. He fought like a man possessed, cutting his way through the ranks of the Pandesian soldiers.
Yet still, he and his men were surrounded. Thousands of Pandesian soldiers collected themselves and they were quickly outmanned ten to one in a hand-to-hand battle. He knew they would not last long. They would die here, after all, ironically on foot in a muddy seabed.
There arose a sudden shout and Seavig looked around, confused, wondering where it came from. Then he saw it, high up in the bell towers, in the re-emerging buildings of Ur. There, he was shocked to see, were groups of warriors, men of Ur who had ridden out the flood, had taken refuge in the high ground. Seavig had not noticed them before, but as the city’s water drained lower and lower, he watched as dozens of these men clambered down the buildings, down to the muddy ground of the city of Ur. They let out a great battle cry as they charged across the dry harbor to attack the Pandesians.
The Pandesians turned, caught off guard, and that gave Seavig the precious momentum he needed. He and his men attacked, while the surviving warriors of Ur attacked the Pandesians from the other side. The Pandesians did not know which way to fight first, and soon, sandwiched between them, they fell by the dozens.
Seavig fought and fought until his shoulders grew tired, never relenting until he had no one left to fight.
Finally he stopped and looked around, breathing hard, amazed at the silence. He watched as his men embraced the men of Ur, as he heard shouts of victory rise to the sky, and he realized something, with a gush of relief.
The battle was over.
Ur, once again, was free.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Kyra raced through the skies, gripping Theon’s scales, a bird’s-eye view of the desert beneath her as they dove down, her stomach plummeting, to the other side of the Devil’s Gulch. Gripping the Staff of Truth, Kyra dove down past the steep cliffs, the ocean waves crashing on the other side, and she was no longer overwhelmed by sadness. Her sadness had been replaced by a new emotion: vengeance. Cold, steely vengeance.
It was time to defeat Pandesia once and for all, to set wrongs right in Escalon. Too long had her people been oppressed; for too long had they not stood up to this nation, not risked their lives to make their land free. Finally, the day had come, the day her ancestors had dreamt about, had prophesied for a thousand years. As she flew, leading her people, she felt as if she were making history.
Kyra heard the distant shouts and looked down to see her father’s army below, hundreds of men charging down the other side of the Gulch, all following her as she led the way. She looked up and saw the thousands of Pandesians up ahead, spread out in the wasteland south of the Gulch, all assembling in columns and clearly preparing for a counter-attack. They stretched to the horizon, covering her land, all the way to the Bridge of Sorrows, an entire nation bent on destroying and retaking Escalon.
Kyra dove lower, gripping Theon around his neck with one hand and the staff with the other, and she could feel the rage pulsing through him, too.
“This is our time, Theon,” she whispered, feeling at one with her dragon. “This is the day we were both born for.”
He roared in response and flew faster, needing no urging. He dove lower, opened his jaws, and as the first legion of soldiers entered their sights, he roared a column of fire.
A huge wave of fire rolled down, spreading out below, Kyra able to feel the heat even from here. The Pandesian soldiers looked up in terror, as if watching a nightmare descend from the skies. They turned to flee—but it was too late. They were all stuck in the fishbowl below, hundreds of thousands of their fellow soldiers blocking their escape.
Theon’s flames engulfed them, and a chorus of shrieks arose as a great fire roared through the crowd. It wiped out hundreds of men at a time, stumbling, collapsing to their knees, turning to ash. Kyra felt a deep satisfaction with each death.
“LOWER!” she urged.
They flew even lower, until they were but feet from the flames, Kyra seeing all the detail up close. She wanted to get closer and closer to the fire, to feel its heat, to feel firsthand the vengeance she was giving her father. She came so close that the heat hurt her face, and yet still she would not pull up. Hardly ten feet above their h
eads, she watched as men, on fire, were shrieking, collapsing, some trying to hurl spears up at the dragon, but being killed before they could even let go.
Horns sounded, and Kyra looked out and saw, in the distance, columns of soldiers rallying, preparing to make a stand against her. Horns sounded again and again as thousands of men on horses, on elephants, in chariots, on foot, charged to meet her and Theon.
Kyra lowered her head, welcoming the challenge.
“FASTER, THEON!”
They flew so fast she could hardly breathe, closing in on the bulk of the army, and as they did, the soldiers below, prepared, hurled spears, fired arrows, sent up an army of weaponry into the skies, all intent on killing her and Theon.
Kyra did not flinch. Instead, she raised the Staff of Truth and, as she felt it vibrating in her hand, slashed it downwards.
A column of black light descended, and as it went, it knocked the spears and arrows out of the skies.
A creaking noise cut through the air and Kyra looked down to see several catapults being rolled forward. Ropes were cut, and a moment later, boulders were soaring through the air, right for her. Just one of these boulders, she knew, could fell Theon.
Kyra held out the staff before her, and she felt an intense power as light shot down from it. The light hit the rocks mid-air and smashed them to pieces, raining down chunks of rock on all the soldiers, and knocking them unconscious by the dozens.