A Forge of Valor . Морган РайсЧитать онлайн книгу.
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“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.
Her father turned to her and grabbed her shoulders with urgency.
“You must leave the city,” he demanded.
Dierdre saw the fatherly love in his eyes, and it touched her.
“My men will escort you,” he added. “They can get you far from here. Go now! And remember me.”
Dierdre wiped away a tear as she saw her father looking down at her with so much love. She shook her head and brushed his hands off of her.
“No, Father,” she said. “This is my city, and I will die by your—”
Before she could finish her words, a horrific explosion cut through the air. At first she was confused, thinking it was another bell, but then she realized—cannon fire. Not just one cannon, but hundreds of them.
The shock waves alone knocked Dierdre off balance, cutting through the fabric of the atmosphere with such force, she felt as if her ears were split in two. Then came the high-pitched whistle of cannonballs, and as she looked out to sea, she felt a wave of panic as she saw hundreds of massive cannonballs, like iron cauldrons in the sky, arching high and heading right for her beloved city.
There followed another sound, worse than the last: the sound of iron crushing stone. The very air rumbled as there came one explosion after another. Dierdre stumbled and fell as all around her the great buildings of Ur, architectural masterpieces, monuments that had lasted thousands of years, were destroyed. These stone buildings, ten feet thick, churches, watchtowers, fortifications, battlements—all, to her horror, were smashed to bits by cannonballs. They crumbled before her eyes.
There came an avalanche of rubble as one building after another toppled to the ground.
It was sickening to watch. As Dierdre rolled on the ground, she saw a hundred-foot stone tower begin to fall on its side. She was helpless to do anything but watch as she saw hundreds of people beneath it look up and shriek in terror as the wall of stone crushed them.
There followed another explosion.
And another.
And another.
All around her more and more buildings exploded and fell, thousands of people instantly crushed in massive plumes of dust and debris. Boulders rolled throughout the city like pebbles while buildings fell into each other, crumbling as they landed on the ground. And still the cannonballs kept coming, ripping through one precious building after the other, turning this once majestic city into a mound of rubble.
Dierdre finally regained her feet. She looked about, dazed, ears ringing, and between clouds of dust saw streets filled