Морган Райс
Rise of the Valiant
The flaming ship, filled with shrieking soldiers, drifted inevitably toward the other ships in the harbor – and as it reached them, it set them aflame, too. Men leapt from ships by the hundreds, shrieking, sinking into the black waters.
Duncan stood there, breathing hard and watching, his eyes aglow, as the whole harbor soon lit in a great conflagration. Thousands of Pandesians, fully roused now, emerged from the lower decks of other ships – but it was too late. They surfaced to a wall of flame, and left with the choice of being burned alive or jumping into a death by drowning in the freezing waters, they all chose the latter. Duncan watched as the harbor soon filled with hundreds of bodies, bobbing in the waters, crying out as they tried to swim for shore.
“ARCHERS!” Duncan yelled.
His archers took aim and fired volley after volley, aiming for the flailing soldiers. One by one they found their marks, and the Pandesians sank.
The waters became slick with blood, and soon there came snapping noises and the sound of shrieking, as the waters were filled with glowing yellow sharks, feasting in the blood-filled harbor.
Duncan looked out and it slowly dawned on him what he had done: the entire Pandesian fleet, but hours ago sitting so defiantly in the harbor, a sign of Pandesian conquest, was no more. Its hundreds of ships were destroyed, all burning together in Duncan’s victory. His speed and surprise had worked.
There came a great shout amongst his men, and Duncan turned to see all of his men cheering as they watched the ships burn, their faces black with soot, exhaustion from having ridden through the night – yet all of them drunk with victory. It was a cry of relief. A cry of freedom. A cry they had been waiting years to release.
Yet no sooner had it sounded when another shout filled the air – this one much more ominous – followed by a sound which made the hair rise on Duncan’s neck. He turned and his heart dropped to see the great gates to the stone barracks slowly opening. As they did, there appeared a frightening sight: thousands of Pandesian soldiers, fully armed, in perfect ranks; a professional army, outnumbering his men ten to one, was preparing. And as the gates opened, they let out a cry and charged right for them.
The beast had been roused. Now, the real war would begin.
Chapter Six
Kyra, clutching Andor’s mane, galloped through the night, Deidre beside her, Leo at her feet, all racing through the snow-filled plains west of Argos like thieves fleeing through the night. As she rode, hour passing hour, the sound of the horses thumping in her ears, Kyra became lost in her own world. She imagined what might lie ahead of her in the Tower of Ur, who her uncle might be, what he would say about her, about her mother, and she could barely contain her excitement. Yet she also had to admit, she felt fear. It would be a long trek to cross Escalon, one she had never done before. And looming ahead of them, she saw, was the Wood of Thorns. The open plains were coming to an end, and they would soon be immersed in a claustrophobic wood filled with savage beasts. She knew all rules were off once they crossed that tree line.
The snow whipped her face as the wind howled across the open plains, and Kyra, her hands numb, dropped the torch from her hand, realizing it had burned dead long ago. She rode through the dark, lost in her own thoughts, the only sound that of the horses, of the snow beneath them, and of Andor’s occasional snarl. She could feel his rage, his untamed nature, unlike any beast she had ever ridden. It was as if Andor was not only unafraid of what lay ahead – but openly hoping for a confrontation.
Wrapped in her furs, Kyra felt another wave of hunger pains, and as she heard Leo whine yet again, she knew they could not all ignore their hunger much longer. They had been riding for hours and had already devoured their frozen strips of meat; she realized, too late, that they had not brought enough provisions. No small game surfaced on this snowy night, and it did not bode well. They would have to stop and find food soon.
They slowed as they neared the edge of the Wood, Leo snarling at the dark tree line. Kyra glanced back over her shoulder, at the rolling plains leading back to Argos, at the last open sky she would see for a while. She turned back and stared at the wood, and a part of her was loath to move ahead. She knew the reputation of the Wood of Thorns, and this, she knew, was a moment of no turning back.
“You ready?” she asked Dierdre.
Dierdre appeared to be a different girl now than the one who had left prison. She was stronger, more resolute, as if she had been to the depths of hell and back and was ready to face anything.
“The worst that can happen has already happened to me,” Deidre said, her voice cold and hard as the wood before them, a voice too old for her age.
Kyra nodded, understanding – and together, they set off, entering the tree line.
The moment they did, Kyra immediately felt a chill, even in this cold night. It was darker here, more claustrophobic, filled with ancient black trees with gnarled branches resembling thorns, and thick, black leaves. The wood exuded not a sense of peace, but one of evil.
They proceeded at a quick walk, as fast as they could amidst these trees, snow and ice crunching beneath their beasts. There slowly arose the sounds of odd creatures, hidden in the branches. She turned and scanned them searching for the source, but could find none. She felt they were being watched.
They proceeded deeper and deeper into the wood, Kyra trying to head west and north, as her father had told her, until she found the sea. As they went, Leo and Andor snarled at hidden creatures Kyra could not see, while she dodged the branches scratching her. Kyra pondered the long road ahead of her. She was excited at the idea of her quest, yet she longed to be with her people, to be fighting at their side in the war she had started. She already felt an urgency to return.
As hour followed hour, Kyra peered into the wood, wondering how much further until they reached the sea. She knew it was risky to ride in such darkness – yet she knew it was also risky to camp out here alone – especially as she heard another startling noise.
“Where is the sea?” Kyra finally asked Dierdre, mainly to break the silence.
She could tell from Dierdre’s expression that she had stirred her from her thoughts; she could only imagine what nightmares she was lost in.
Dierdre shook her head.
“I wish I knew,” she replied, her voice parched.
Kyra was confused.
“Didn’t you come this way when they took you?” she asked.
Dierdre shrugged.
“I was locked in a cage in the back of the wagon,” she replied, “and unconscious most of the trip. They could have taken me any direction. I don’t know this wood.”
She sighed, peering out into the blackness.
“But as we near Whitewood, I should recognize more.”
They continued on, falling into a comfortable silence, and Kyra could not help but wonder about Deidre and her past. She could feel her strength, yet also her profound sadness. Kyra found herself getting consumed by dark thoughts of the journey ahead, of their lack of food, of the biting cold and the savage creatures awaiting them, and she turned to Dierdre, wanting to distract herself.
“Tell me of the Tower of Ur,” Kyra said. “What’s it like?”
Dierdre looked back, black circles beneath her eyes, and shrugged.
“I’ve never been to the tower,” Dierdre replied. “I am from the city of Ur – and that is a good day’s ride south.”
“Then tell me of your city,” Kyra said, wanting to think of anything but here.
Dierdre’s eyes lit up.
“Ur is a beautiful place,” she said, longing in her voice. “The city by the sea.”
“We have a city south of us that is near the sea,” Kyra said. “Esephus. It is a day’s ride from Volis. I used to go there, with my father, when I was young.”
Dierdre shook her head.
“That is not a sea,” she replied.
Kyra was confused.
“What do you mean?”
“That is the Sea of Tears,” Dierdre replied. “Ur is on the Sea of Sorrow. Our is a much more expansive sea. On your eastern shore, there are small tides; on our western coast, the Sorrow has waves twenty feet high that crash into our shores, and a tide that can pull out ships in a glance, much less men, when the moon is high. Ours is the only city in all of Escalon where the cliffs lower enough to allow ships to touch to shore. Our has the only beach in all of Escalon. It is why Andros was built but a day’s ride east of us.”
Kyra pondered her words, glad to be distracted. She recalled all of this from some lesson in her youth, but she had never pondered it all in detail.
“And your people?” Kyra asked. “What are they like?”
Dierdre sighed.
“A proud people,” she replied, “like any other in Escalon. But different, too. They say those of Ur have one eye on Escalon and one on the sea. We look to the horizon. We are less provincial than the others – perhaps because so many foreigners touch down on our shores. The men of Ur were once famed warriors, my father foremost amongst them. Now, we are subjects, like everyone else.”
She sighed, and fell silent for a long time. Kyra was surprised when she started to speak again.
“Our city is cut with canals,” Dierdre continued. “When I was growing up, I would sit atop the ridge and watch the ships come in and out for hours, sometimes days. They would come to us from all over the world, flying all different banners and sails and colors. They would bring in spices and silks and weapons and delicacies of every manner – sometimes even animals. I would look at the people coming and going, and I would wonder about their lives. I wanted desperately to be one of them.”
She smiled, an unusual sight, her eyes aglow, clearly remembering.
“I used to have a dream,” Dierdre said. “When I came of age, I would board one of those ships and sail away to some foreign land. I would find my prince, and we would live on a great island, in a great castle somewhere. Anywhere but Escalon.”
Kyra looked over to see Dierdre smiling.
“And now?” Kyra asked.
Dierdre’s face fell as she looked down at the snow, her expression suddenly filled with sadness. She merely shook her head.
“It’s too late for me,” Dierdre said. “After what they’ve done to me.”
“It’s never too late,” Kyra said, wanting to reassure her.
But Dierdre merely shook her head.
“Those were the dreams of an innocent girl,” she said, her voice heavy with remorse. “That girl is long gone.”
Kyra felt sadness for her friend as they continued in silence, deeper and deeper into the wood. She wanted to take away her pain, but did not how. She wondered at the pain that some people lived with. What was it her father had told her once? Do not be fooled by men’s faces. We all lead lives of quiet despair. Some hide it better than others. Feel compassion for all, even if you see no outward reason.
“The worst day of my life,” Dierdre continued, “was when my father conceded to Pandesian law, when he let those ships enter our canals and let his men lower our banners. It was a sadder day, even, than when he allowed them to take me.”
Kyra understood all too well. She understood the pain Dierdre had gone through, the sense of betrayal.
“And when you return?” Kyra asked. “Will you see your father?”
Dierdre looked down, pained. Finally, she said: “He is still my father. He made a mistake. I am sure he did not realize what would become of me. I think he shall never be the same when he learns what happened. I want to tell him. Eye to eye. I want him to understand the pain I felt. His betrayal. He needs to understand what happens when men decide the fate of women.” She wiped away a tear. “He was my hero once. I do not understand how he could have given me away.”
“And now?” Kyra asked.
Dierdre shook her head.
“No more. I am done making men my heroes. I shall find other heroes.”
“What about you?” Kyra asked.
Dierdre looked back, confused.
“What do you mean?”
“Why look any further than yourself?” Kyra asked. “Can you not be your own hero?”
Dierdre scoffed.
“And why would I?”
“You are a hero to me,” Kyra said. “What you suffered in there – I could not suffer. You survived. More than that – you are back on your feet and thriving even now. That makes you a hero to me.”
Dierdre seemed to contemplate her words as they continued on in the silence.
“And you, Kyra?” Dierdre finally asked. “Tell me something about you.”
Kyra shrugged, wondering.
“What would you like to know?”
Dierdre cleared her throat.
“Tell me of the dragon. What happened back there? I’ve never seen anything like it. Why did he come for you?” She hesitated. “Who are you?”
Kyra was surprised to detect fear in her friend’s voice. She pondered her words, wanting to answer truthfully, and wished she had the answer.
“I don’t know,” she finally answered, truthfully. “I suppose that is what I am going to find out.”
“You don’t know?” Dierdre pressed. “A dragon swoops down from the sky to fight for you, and you don’t know why?”
Kyra thought about how crazy that sounded, yet she could only shake her head. She looked up reflexively at the skies, and between the gnarled branches, despite all hope, she hoped for a sign of Theos.
But saw nothing but gloom. She heard no dragon, and her sense of isolation deepened.
“You know that you are different, don’t you?” Dierdre pressed.
Kyra shrugged, her cheeks burning, feeling self-conscious. She wondered if her friend looked at her as if she were some kind of freak.
“I used to be so sure of everything,” Kyra replied. “But now…I honestly don’t know anymore.”
They continued riding for hours, falling back into a comfortable silence, sometimes trotting when the wood opened up, at other times the wood so dense they needed to dismount and lead their beasts. Kyra felt on edge the entire time, feeling as if they could be attacked at any moment, never able to relax in this forest. She did not know what hurt her more: the cold or the hunger pains ripping through her stomach. Her muscles ached, and she couldn’t feel her lips. She was miserable. She could hardly conceive their quest had barely begun.
After hours more passed, Leo began to whine. It was a strange noise – not his usual whine, but the one he reserved for times when he smelled food. At the same moment Kyra, too, smelled something – and Dierdre turned in the same direction and stared.
Kyra peered through the wood, but saw nothing. As they stopped and listened, she began to hear the faintest sound of activity somewhere up ahead.
Kyra was both excited by the smell and nervous about what that could mean: others were sharing this wood with them. She recalled her father’s warning, and the last thing she wanted was a confrontation. Not here and not now.
Dierdre looked at her.
“I’m famished,” Dierdre said.
Kyra, too, felt the hunger pangs.
“Whoever it is, on a night like this,” Kyra replied, “I have a feeling they won’t be keen to share.”
“We have plenty of gold,” Dierdre said. “Perhaps they will sell us some.”
But Kyra shook her head, having a sinking feeling, while Leo whined and licked his lips, clearly famished, too.
“I don’t think it’s wise,” Kyra said, despite the pains in her stomach. “We should stick to our path.”
“And if we find no food?” Dierdre persisted. “We could all die of hunger out here. Our horses, too. It could be days, and this might be our only chance. Besides, we have little to fear. You have your weapons, I have mine, and we have Leo and Andor. If you need to, you could put three arrows in someone before he blinked – and we could be far off by then.”
But Kyra hesitated, unconvinced.
“Besides, I doubt a hunter with a spit of meat will cause us all any harm,” Dierdre added.
Kyra, sensing everyone else’s hunger, their desire to pursue it, could resist no longer.
“I don’t like it,” she said. “Let us go slowly and see who it is. If we sense trouble, you must agree to leave before we get close.”
Dierdre nodded.
“I promise you,” she replied.
They all headed off, riding at a fast walk through the woods. As the smell grew stronger, Kyra saw a dim glow up ahead, and as they rode for it, her heart beat faster as she wondered who it could be out here.
They slowed as they approached, riding more cautiously, weaving between the trees. The glow grew brighter, the noise louder, the commotion greater, as Kyra sensed they were on the periphery of a large group of people.
Dierdre, less cautious, letting her hunger get the best of her, rode faster, moving up ahead and gaining a bit of distance.
“Dierdre!” Kyra hissed, urging her back.
But Dierdre kept moving, seemingly overcome by her hunger.
Kyra hurried to keep up with her, and as she did, the glow became brighter as Dierdre stopped at the edge of a clearing. As Kyra stopped beside her, looked past her into a clearing in the wood, she was shocked by what she saw.
There, in the clearing, were dozens of pigs roasting on spits, huge bonfires lighting up the night. The smell was captivating. Also in the clearing were dozens of men, and as Kyra squinted, her heart dropped to see they were Pandesian soldiers. She was shocked to see them here, sitting around fires, laughing, jesting with each other, holding sacks of wine, hands full of chunks of meat.
On the far side of the clearing, Kyra’s heart dropped to see a cluster of iron carriages with bars. Dozens of gaunt faces stared out hungrily, the faces of boys and men, all desperate, all captives. Kyra realized at once what this was.
“The Flames,” she hissed to Dierdre. “They are bringing them to The Flames.”
Dierdre, still a good fifteen feet ahead, did not turn back, her eyes fixed on the roasting pigs.
“Dierdre!” Kyra hissed, feeling a sense of alarm. “We must leave this place at once!”
Dierdre, though, still did not listen, and Kyra, throwing caution to the wind, rushed forward to grab her.
No sooner had she reached her when suddenly, Kyra sensed motion out of the corner of her eyes. At the same moment Leo and Andor snarled – but it was too late. From out of the wood there suddenly emerged a group of Pandesian soldiers, casting a huge net before them.
Kyra turned and instinctively reached back to draw her staff, but there was no time. Before she could even register what was happening, Kyra felt the net falling down on her, binding her arms, and she realized, with a sinking heart, that they were all now slaves to Pandesia.
Chapter Seven
Alec flailed as he fell backwards, feeling the cold rush of air, his stomach dropping as he plummeted toward the ground and the pack of Wilvox below. He felt his life flash before his eyes. He had escaped the venomous bite of the creature above him only to fall to what would surely be an instant death below. Beside him, Marco flailed, too, the two of them falling together. It was little solace. Alec did not want to see his friend die, either.
Alec felt himself crashing into something, a dull pain on his back, and he expected to feel fangs sink into his flesh. But he was surprised to realize it was the muscular body of a Wilvox writhing beneath him. He had fallen so quickly that the Wilvox had had no time to react and he had landed flat on its back, it cushioning his fall as he knocked it to the ground.
There came a thump beside him, and Alec looked over to see Marco land atop one another Wilvox, flattening it, too, at least long enough to keep its snapping jaws away. That left only two other Wilvox to contend with. One of them leapt into action, lowering its jaws for Alec’s exposed stomach.
Alec, still on his back, a Wilvox beneath him, allowed his instincts to take over, and as the beast leapt on top of him, he leaned back, raised his boots and put them up protectively over his head. The beast landed on top of them and as it did, Alec shoved with his feet and sent it flying backwards.
It landed several feet away in the snow, buying Alec precious time – and a second chance.
At the same time, Alec felt the beast beneath him wiggle out. It prepared to lunge and as it did, Alec reacted. He spun around quickly, wrapping one arm tightly around its throat in a chokehold, holding it close enough so that it could not bite, and squeezing as hard as he could. The creature struggled like mad in his grip, trying desperately to snap at him, and it took all of Alec’s might to contain it. Somehow, he did. He squeezed tighter and tighter. The beast jerked away, turning and rolling in the snow, and Alec held on and rolled with it.
Out of the corner of his eye Alec spotted another beast charging for his now-exposed back, and he anticipated the feel of fangs sinking into his flesh. He had no time to react, so he did what was counterintuitive: still holding the Wilvox, he rolled onto his back, holding it out in front of him, its back atop his stomach, its legs kicking in the air. The other beast, airborne, landed with his fangs – and instead of finding a target in Alec, the fangs sunk into the exposed belly of the other beast. Alec held on tight, using it as a shield, as it shrieked and squirmed. Finally, he felt it go limp in his arms as its hot blood poured out all over him.
It was a moment both of victory and of profound sadness for him: Alec had never killed a living thing before. He did not hunt, like most of his friends, and he didn’t believe in killing anything. Even though he knew the beast would have surely killed him, it still hurt him to see it die.
Alec suddenly felt a searing pain on his leg and he cried out and looked down to see another Wilvox biting him. He kicked his leg away before the fangs could sink any deeper and immediately jumped into action. He shoved the dead beast off of him, and as another Wilvox lunged for him, he scrambled to think. He felt cold steel pressing into his belly, and he remembered: his dagger. It was small – yet it might be just enough to do the trick. In a final act of desperation, Alec grabbed the dagger, stiffened his arm, and held it out in front of him.
The Wilvox came down and as it lowered its jaws for Alec, its throat was impaled on the blade. It let out an awful shriek as Alec held tight and the blade sank all the way in. Its blood poured all over Alec as it finally went limp, its razor-sharp fangs just inches from his face, its dead weight atop him.
Alec lay there, his heart thumping, unsure if he was alive or dead, covered in blackness from the beast’s matted fur, which stuck to his face. He felt his leg throbbing where he had been bit, heard himself breathing, and he realized he was, somehow, still alive.
Suddenly a shriek ripped through the night air, and Alec snapped out of it and remembered: Marco.
Alec looked over to find Marco in dire straits: he was wrestling with a Wilvox, rolling in the snow, it snapping at him as he barely held back its jaws. As the beast snapped again, Marco’s hands, slick with blood, slipped, and the beast’s fangs came down and grazed his shoulder.
Marco cried out again, and Alec could see there wasn’t much time. The other Wilvox lunged for Marco, too, who lay there prone, his back exposed, about to be killed.
Alec burst into action, not stopping to think twice about risking his life to save his friend. He ran for Marco with all he had, praying to God he made it before the beast did, each of them about ten feet away. They leapt into the air at the same time, the Wilvox to tear Marco apart and Alec to jump in the beast’s way and take the injury in his stead.
Alec made it just in time, and as he did, he suddenly felt the horrific pain of the Wilvox’s fangs sinking into his arm instead of Marco’s. He had achieved his objective, had spared Marco from a lethal bite, but he had received a horrific bite in his stead, the pain intense.
Alec tumbled with the beast, throwing it off of him, clutching his arm in pain. He reached into his belt for his dagger, but he could not find it – and he remembered, too late, that he had left it lodged in the other beast’s throat.
Alec lay on his back, barely holding back the Wilvox, now on all fours on his chest, and he felt himself losing strength. He was exhausted from the wound, from the fighting, and he was too weak to fight off this creature, all muscle, and determined to kill. As it leaned in, ever closer, its saliva dripping onto Alec’s face, Alec knew he was out of options.
Alec looked for help from Marco, but he saw his friend still wrestling with a Wilvox himself, and losing strength, too. They would both die here, Alec realized, beside each other in the snow.
The Wilvox on top of him arched its back and prepared to sink its fangs into Alec’s chest with one final strike, which Alec knew he was too weak to resist – when suddenly, it froze. He was baffled as it lingered there, let out an awful cry of agony, then collapsed limply on top of him.
Dead.
Alec was stumped. Had it been shot in the back by an arrow? By whom?
As he sat up to figure it out, Alec suddenly felt something awful and cold and slimy slithering up his leg – colder even than the snow. His heart skipped a beat as he looked down and realized it was the snake. It must have slithered down the tree and struck the Wilvox, killing it with its lethal venom. Ironically, it had saved Alec.
The snake-like creature slithered slowly, alternately crawling on its legs, like a millipede, around the dead Wilvox, coiling itself around its body, and Alec felt a terror even greater than he had when the Wilvox was on top of him. He scurried out from under it, eager to get away while the snake was distracted.
Alec scrambled to his hands and knees and rushed forward and charged the Wilvox still pinning down Marco. He kicked it as hard as he could, its ribs cracking as it went rolling off his friend, right before it could bite him. The beast whined and rolled in the snow, clearly caught off guard.
Alec yanked Marco to his feet, and Marco turned and charged the beast, kicking it as it tried to get up, again and again in the ribs. The beast rolled several feet, down a bank of snow, until it was out of sight.
“Let’s go!” Alec urged.
Marco needed no prodding. They both took off, racing through the wood, the snake still coiled around the Wilvox, hissing and snapping at them as they went, barely missing them. Alec sprinted, his heart pounding in his chest, wanting to get as far away from here as possible.
They ran for their lives, bumping into trees, and as Alec glanced back over his shoulder, wanting to make sure they were in the clear, he saw something that made his heart drop: the final Wilvox. It just would not stop. It scrambled back up the snow bank, and now hunted them down as they ran. Much faster than they, it bounded through the snow, bearing down on them, its jaws widening, more determined than ever.
Alec looked forward and spotted something up ahead: two boulders, taller than he, a few feet apart, a narrow crevice between them. He suddenly had an idea.
“Follow me!” Alec cried.
Alec ran for the boulders as the Wilvox closed in behind them. He could hear it panting behind him in the snow, and he knew he had only one chance to get this right. He prayed his plan worked.
Alec leapt over the boulders, landing on the other side in the snow, as Marco did the same, right behind him. He stumbled in the snow, then turned and watched the Wilvox follow. It leapt up, too, and as he had hoped, the beast, unable to climb, and slipped on the rock and got lodged in the narrow crevice between the boulders.
It wiggled, trying to break free, but it could not. Finally, it was trapped.
Alec turned and examined the beast, breathing hard, flooded with relief. In pain, scratched up, the small bite on his leg hurting, and the big bite on his arm killing, Alec finally realized the nightmare was over. They were alive. Somehow, they had survived.
Marco looked at Alec, eyes filled with admiration.
“You did it,” Marco said. “The kill is yours.”
Alec stood there, hardly a foot away from the helpless beast, which was snarling, wanting to tear them apart. He knew he should feel nothing but hatred for it. But despite himself, he pitied it. It was a living thing, after all, and trapped, helpless.
Alec hesitated.
Marco reached down, picked up a jagged rock, and handed it to him. Alec held the rock, sharp and heavy, and knew that one decisive blow could kill this creature. He held the rock, feeling the cold weight of it on his palm, and his hand trembled. He could not bring himself to do it.
Finally, he dropped it in the snow.
“What is it?” Marco asked.
“I can’t,” Alec said. “I can’t kill something helpless. However much it may deserve it. Let us go. It can’t harm us now.”
Marco stared back, shocked.
“But it will break free!” he exclaimed.
Alec nodded.
“It will. But by then, we shall be far from here.”
Marco furrowed his brow.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “It tried to kill you. It wounded you – and me.”
Alec wished he could explain it, but he did not fully understand it himself. Finally, he sighed.
“It was something my brother once said to me,” Alec said. “When you kill something, you murder some small part of the world.”
Alec turned to Marco.
“Let’s go,” Alec said.
Alec turned to go, but Marco held out a hand and stepped forward.
“You saved my life,” Marco said, reverence in his voice. “That wound on your arm you received because of me. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead back there. I owe you.”
“You owe me nothing,” Alec replied.
“You risked your life for me,” Marco said.
Alec sighed.
“Who would I be if I did not risk my life for others?” Alec said.
They clasped arms, and Alec knew that no matter what happened, no matter what dangers lay ahead of them, he now had a brother for life.
