Rise of the Valiant. Morgan Rice

on the sea, their biggest neighbor to the south. She became even more excited as she realized – if he was going there it could only mean one thing: he was preparing for war.

      He nodded, as if reading her mind.

      “There is no turning back now,” he said.

      Kyra looked back at her father with a sense of pride she had not felt in years. He was no longer the complacent warrior, living his middle years in the security of a small fort – but now the bold commander she once knew, willing to risk it all for freedom.

      “When do we leave?” she asked, her heart pounding, anticipating her first battle.

      She was surprised to see him shake his head.

      “Not we,” he corrected. “I and my men. Not you.”

      Kyra was crestfallen, his words like a dagger in her heart.

      “Would you leave me behind?” she asked, stammering. “After all that has happened? What else must I do to prove myself to you?”

      He shook his head firmly, and she was devastated to see the hardened look in his eyes, a look which she knew meant he would not bend.

      “You shall go to your uncle,” he said. It was a command, not a request, and with those words she knew where she stood: she was his soldier now, not his daughter. It hurt her.

      Kyra breathed deep – she would not give in so quickly.

      “I want to fight alongside you,” she insisted. “I can help you.”

      “You will be helping me,” he said, “by going where you’re needed. I need you with him.”

      She furrowed her brow, trying to understand.

      “But why?” she asked.

      He was silent for a long time, until he finally sighed.

      “You possess…” he began, “…skills I do not understand. Skills that we will need to win this war. Skills that only your uncle will know how to foster.”

      He reached out and held her shoulder meaningfully.

      “If you want to help us,” he added, “if you want to help our people, that is where you are needed. I don’t need another soldier – I need the unique talents you have to offer. The skills that no one else has.”

      She saw the earnestness in his eyes, and while she felt awful at the prospect of being unable to join him, she felt some reassurance in his words – along with a heightened sense of curiosity. She wondered what skills he was referring to, and wondered who her uncle might be.

      “Go and learn what I cannot teach you,” he added. “Come back stronger. And help me win.”

      Kyra looked into his eyes, and she felt the respect, the warmth returning, and she began to feel restored again.

      “Ur is a long journey,” he added. “A good three-day ride west and north. You will have to cross Escalon alone. You will have to ride quickly, by stealth, and avoid the roads. Word will soon spread of what has happened here – and Pandesian lords will be wrathful. The roads will be dangerous – you will stick to the woods. Ride north, find the sea, and keep it in view. It shall be your compass. Follow its coastline, and you will find Ur. Stay away from villages, stay away from people. Do not stop. Tell no one where you are going. Speak to no one.”

      He grabbed her shoulders firmly and his eyes darkened with urgency, scaring her.

      “Do you understand me?” he implored. “It is a dangerous journey for any man – much less for a girl alone. I can spare no one to accompany you. I need you to be strong enough to do this alone. Are you?”

      She could hear the fear in his voice, the love of a concerned father torn, and she nodded back, feeling pride that he would trust her with such a quest.

      “I am, Father,” she said proudly.

      He studied her, then finally nodded, as if satisfied. Slowly, his eyes welled with tears.

      “Of all my men,” he said, “of all these warriors, you are the one I need the most. Not your brothers, and not even my trusted soldiers. You are the one, the only one, who can win this war.”

      Kyra felt confused and overwhelmed; she did not fully understand what he meant. She opened her mouth to ask him – when suddenly she sensed motion approaching.

      She turned to see Baylor, her father’s master of horse, approaching with his usual smile. A short, overweight man with thick eyebrows and stringy hair, he approached them with his customary swagger and smiled at her, then looked to her father, as if awaiting his approval.

      Her father nodded to him, and Kyra wondered what was going on, as Baylor turned to her.

      “I’m told you’ll be taking a journey,” Baylor said, his voice nasal. “For that, you’ll need a horse.”

      Kyra frowned, confused.

      “I have a horse,” she replied, looking over at the fine horse she’d ridden during the battle with the Lord’s Men, tied up across the courtyard.

      Baylor smiled.

      “That’s not a horse,” he said.

      Baylor looked to her father and her father nodded, and Kyra tried to understand what was happening.

      “Follow me,” he said, and without waiting, he suddenly turned and strode off for the stables.

      Kyra watched him go, confused, then looked to her dad. He nodded back.

      “Follow him,” he said. “You won’t regret it.”

* * *

      Kyra crossed the snowy courtyard with Baylor, joined by Anvin, Arthfael and Vidar, heading eagerly toward the low, stone stables in the distance. As she went, Kyra wondered what Baylor had meant, wondered what horse he had in mind for her. In her mind, one horse was not much different from another.

      As they approached the sprawling stone stable, at least a hundred yards long, Baylor turned to her, eyes widening in delight.

      “Our Lord’s daughter will need a fine horse to take her wherever it is she is going.”

      Kyra’s heart quickened; she had never been given a horse from Baylor before, an honor usually reserved only for distinguished warriors. She’d always dreamed of having one when she was old enough, and when she had earned it. It was an honor that even her older brothers did not enjoy.

      Anvin nodded proudly.

      “You have earned it,” he said.

      “If you can handle a dragon,” Arthfael added with a smile, “you can most certainly handle a master horse.”

      As the stables loomed, a small crowd began to gather, joining them as they walked, the men taking a break from their gathering of weapons, clearly curious to see where she was being led. Her two older brothers, Brandon and Braxton, joined them, too, glancing over at Kyra wordlessly, jealousy in their eyes. They looked away quickly, too proud, as usual, to acknowledge her, much less offer her any praise. She, sadly, expected nothing else of them.

      Kyra heard footsteps and looked over, pleased to see her friend Dierdre joining her, too.

      “I hear you’re leaving,” Dierdre said as she fell in beside her.

      Kyra walked beside her new friend, comforted by her presence. She thought back to their time together in the governor’s cell, all the suffering they had endured, escaping, and she felt an instant bond with her. Dierdre had gone through an even worse hell than she had, and as she studied her, black rings beneath her eyes, an aura of suffering and sadness still lingering about her, she wondered what would become of her. She could not just leave her alone in this fort, she realized. With the army heading south, Dierdre would be left alone.

      “I can use a traveling companion,” Kyra said, an idea forming as she uttered the words.

      Dierdre looked at her, eyes widening with surprise, and broke into a wide smile, her heavy aura lifting.

      “I was