The War of the Masters

“Wake up.” A hushed voice woke him from his slumber. Pain seared through his body, and he felt the full extent of the excruciating agony he had suffered.

“Are you awake?”

“Ugh . . .” The grunt was all he could muster. A pair of gentle hands helped him roll onto his back. The cell was dark, with only a faint flicker of a torch near the dungeon’s entrance for light. Slowly his eyes returned to focus, and he could just make out the face hovering over him. It was the Princess. She had changed from her purple vest into a hooded cloak, and a pouch of coins was fastened to her belt.

“We have to get out of here,” the Princess whispered.

Get out of here? I can’t even roll over!

Summoning his strength, he barely managed to say, “I don’t think I’m going anywhere.”

The young woman smiled gently, then reached her hand out and placed it over his heart. Placing her opposite hand over her own, she leaned in close and exhaled deeply. The thick breath sank deep into his body, permeating his very bones. His broken ribs snapped back into place, his bruises disappeared, and the perforation in his lung closed over.

Slowly Cyrus sat up, the pain washed away from his body. Only the dried blood on his skin served as a mark that he was ever injured.

“Incredible . . .” was all Cyrus could say.

The woman gave him a weak smile. “I’m just glad I got to you in time. A little longer and you would . . .”

Suddenly her eyes rolled back and her body went weak. Cyrus sprang forward and caught her before she could hit the cold stone floor.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sorry. That . . . takes a lot out of me.”

Looking down at his healed body, he murmured, “I can see why. Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but it’s not a permanent fix,” she cautioned.

“What do you mean?”

“I just gave you the Breath of the Masters. It’s an ability passed down through the royal family. It heals, and sometimes even enhances the receiver, but wears off over time. Eventually you will revert back to the condition you were in when you first received the Breath, which for you . . .” she paused, unconsciously rubbing the back of her neck, “would be near death.”

“So . . . what am I going to do?” Cyrus asked.

“I’m afraid every so often you’ll have to receive the Breath again. Looks like you’re stuck with me,” the woman added with a half-smile. “I’m so sorry. But it was the only way I could save you.”

Cyrus rose to his feet and shook his head. “No apology necessary. You stood up to your father for me, and now you’ve saved my life. It seems to me like you’re doing everything you can to make it right.”

The Princess flashed a big smile and he could tell she was relieved. “Still, I’d like to make it up to you however I can. But right now we need to leave Candore before my father comes back.”

“You’re willing to leave your country and family behind?”

The Princess nodded gravely. “I can’t be a part of what’s happening here. I see that now.”

“All right, but before we go any further, can I get your name?” he asked.

The Princess blushed, obviously a bit embarrassed that she hadn’t introduced herself. “Terra.”

“Pleased to meet you, Terra. I’m Cyrus. What’s the plan for our escape?”

Terra glanced behind her. “I’ve already told the guards posted outside to leave, so the way should be clear.”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “Won’t that arouse suspicion?”

“Here in Candore, royalty has the first, last, and only say. The order didn’t interfere with anything my father told them, so they won’t be back again tonight.”

“All right. How do we get out of the spire?” Cyrus asked.

“There’s an exit above and below us. The one beneath us is the dragon lair, but they should be sleeping right now.

Cyrus swallowed the lump in his throat. “And the one above us?”

“We’ll have to pass by the royal quarters, but there shouldn’t be any guards around.”

“So it’s sneak past a horde of sleeping dragons or try to slip past the King. Great . . .”

Terra nodded grimly. “Whichever way you want to go, I’ll be right behind you.”

Cyrus weighed his options, but not for long. As terrible as it sounded, if things turned sour he’d rather face Xyloth than a team of dragons.

“We’ll head for the highest exit,” he declared.

Taking the lead, Cyrus exited the dungeon, careful to close the metal door softly behind him. Two routes beckoned him. Remembering the path he’d been dragged through, he chose the left and started heading up.

The pathway spiraled around and up through the towering walls of rock. Cyrus considered running to save time, but immediately discarded the notion; within the hollow spire, their footsteps would echo loudly, alerting the rest of the island to their presence. Cautiously they wound their way up the limestone interior until Terra tugged at his shirt.

“This way,” she whispered, indicating the adjacent corridor.

The duo made it no more than a few steps when they heard voices from up ahead. Poking his head around the corner, Cyrus peered into what looked to be the island’s bakery. Delicious smells wafted through the air; dough was spread out across one of the tables, and a half-finished cake sat atop a rolling cart. Down at the opposite end, he could just make out two guards perched upon their stools, obnoxiously flirting with what appeared to be the baker.

“C’mon, beautiful, no one would ever know!”

“Yeah,” the other guard chimed in, “We’d keep it a secret! What do you say, Aimee?”

Cyrus saw Terra bristle at the mention of the name.

“Absolutely not!” the baker replied angrily, waving her rolling pin at them. “I’ve already told you, get out of here and let me do my job!”

“You know we’re not leaving that easily,” one of the guards shot back, standing up from the bar stool.

Terra tugged at Cyrus’s shirt again. “We’ve got to do something!” she whispered.

“Didn’t you say you could order them to leave?”

Terra shook her head. “I could, but these are the two I met with when we first landed here. They’re supposed to be stationed down at the middle entrance; if I told them to leave they’d see you on the way and know we’re up to something.”

Cyrus grimaced. “I guess we’ll just have to improvise.”

He thought about trying to sneak up behind the guards, but he doubted he could get close enough to attack without them noticing. And even if he could, armed only with his fishing knife, Cyrus knew he was no match for a trained soldier, let alone two. He’d just have to outsmart them.

“Terra, do you think we can reach that rolling cart without them noticing?”

The Princess nodded and slipped silently into the room. The guards on the other side of the bakery were too engrossed in their own exploits to notice. Carefully she set the cake on the table next to her and pushed the cart back to where Cyrus was still standing.

“Great,” he said. “Here’s the plan: I’ll lay down on the cart, covered up by a blanket so they don’t know I’m healed. You push us in, catch them not at their posts, and order them back to their duties.”

“They’re going to ask me what I’m doing,” Terra warned. “This looks pretty suspicious.”

Cyrus quietly lay down on top of the cart. “Tell them you’re taking me up to your father so he can watch you kill me personally. But be convincing; they have to believe you’re ready to be a cold-blooded killer.”

“I’ll try my best,” Terra said as she wrapped a nearby table cloth over him, covering all but his head. “I hope this works.”

The Princess took a deep breath and pushed the cart through the bakery, purposefully making as much noise as she could. The first guard, who had just wrapped his arms around the waist of the resisting woman, jumped at the sudden sound and turned to face them.

“Princess!” he squealed. “I—uh, this isn’t what it looks like . . .”

Terra fixed the guards with an icy glare. “Why aren’t you at your posts?” she asked in a threatening voice, completely different from the quiet, reserved tone with which she usually spoke.

“We, uh—” the first guard stammered.

“We’re on break,” the second soldier jumped in. “We came up here for cake so we wouldn’t nod off or anything. Honest!”

Terra narrowed her eyes, letting an uncomfortable silence fill the room. Cyrus gave a soft whimper of agony, doing his best to pretend he was still gravely injured.

“I’ll be sure to tell my father how quick you were to abandon your responsibilities,” she told them menacingly.

Both soldiers twitched at the mention of the King. “You—you’re going to talk to your father?”

“Of course, you incompetent fools!” Terra snapped. “Where do you think I’m taking this peasant? And if I ever hear that you bothered this woman again . . . ”

“No, of course not!”

“Good. Now get out of my sight!”

“Yes, Princess!” they said feebly before bolting out of the bakery and down the winding path.

Cyrus waited a few extra moments before breathing a heavy sigh of relief. Terra let go of the cart and rushed over to Aimee.

“I’m so sorry,” the Princess apologized, transitioning back to her normal tone as she wrapped her arms around the baker. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“No, child, I’m fine,” Aimee replied, returning the hug.

Cyrus cast aside the cloth and walked over beside them. “Peasant, huh?” he asked Terra with a slight grin.

Terra smiled and shrugged. “You told me to be convincing.”

“Was any of that true?” Aimee asked sternly. “Are you going to finish the Ritual?”

Terra shook her head forcefully. “No. We’re getting out of here. I want no part in the war to come.”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “What war? What are you talking about?”

Aimee answered for her. “Terra is the youngest of the King’s children. Once every child has turned sixteen and completed the Ritual of Adulthood, a war breaks out between all the siblings, usually in the Unknown Regions to the east. It is the Candorian custom that whichever child survives will become the new ruler of our country.”

“Why doesn’t the eldest heir receive the title?” Cyrus asked.

“Long ago, that was tried. But the younger children were too ambitious to give up their chance for power. The fighting wasted Candore’s resources and threatened to splinter our country between allies. This current method guarantees the war takes place away from here. It also ensures that we have the strongest ruler, one who is free to focus on benefiting Candore rather than worrying about betrayal. At least, that’s the reasoning behind it.”

“Except I won’t be a part of it,” Terra declared defiantly. “They can disqualify me, exile me, whatever. I don’t care.”

“It won’t work like that,” Aimee warned gently, pushing one of Terra’s black locks behind her ear. “Your siblings will see you as an obstacle to be removed no matter where you go. They’ll hunt you down and try to eliminate you.”

Terra let out a frustrated sigh. “I know . . . I just wish it wasn’t like this—” she stopped mid-sentence and turned to Cyrus. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Aimee, this is Cyrus. Cyrus, Aimee. She’s looked out for me ever since my mother passed away.”

“Nice to meet you, Cyrus,” the baker said, shaking his hand.

“Same here,” he replied, casting a nervous glance at both entrances to the room.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Aimee said, noticing his anxiety. “It’s the middle of the night; no one else will be through here until morning.”

“What do you think I should do, Aimee?” Terra asked.

“It sounds to me like you’re on the right path, child,” she said with a warm smile. “I’ve always tried to instill a sense of right and wrong in you. It was always my hope that you wouldn’t turn out like the rest of your family. I’m so proud of you, Terra.”

The Princess blushed and looked down at the floor. “I—I don’t know what to say.” She threw her arms around the baker again. “Thank you, Aimee. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, child, and happy birthday,” the woman said, gently patting her back. “Now you two had better get going. The King won’t stay in his room all night, and you’re the only hope Candore has to put an end to these senseless wars for good.”

Terra looked into the older woman’s eyes. “Will you be all right here?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” The woman smiled again and said gently, “Go.”

Cyrus could see the reluctance in Terra’s stance. Aimee seemed to be something of a mother figure to her, and he didn’t want to intrude on what was likely their final goodbye. Then, without another word, Cyrus and the Princess made their way out the door at the far end of the room.

Ascending surreptitiously through the tower, they reached a narrow hallway leading into the massive chambers they’d first landed in. Cyrus took a step forward but Terra’s hand wrapped around his arm, causing him to stop short.

“Those are the royal chambers,” she whispered, nodding toward the wide double doors just ahead and to their right.

Cyrus winced, the memory of his vicious pummeling flashing through his mind. The doors were both slightly ajar, and a trace amount of light seeped in from the room. Even pressed against the opposite wall they would have to cross by no less than ten feet from Xyloth’s room.

Exhaling slowly to calm his nerves, Cyrus crouched down and crept through the stone corridor. Shadows danced across the walls, cast by the torches flickering lazily. Careful to roll the balls of his feet, Cyrus moved slowly and silently into the spacious chamber beyond. Terra followed closely, quiet as a mouse until they reached Candore’s highest opening.

Whew . . . we made it past the King.

Cyrus gazed out the port and into the brisk night sky. Glancing down, he gulped loudly as he saw a thick blanket of clouds stretching out as far as he could see. He tried to take a deep breath, but the air was so thin his lungs ached from the strain.

If we fall from this height, we’re done for.

“Here we are,” Terra said anxiously. “Just give me a second to call—”

A voice growled at them through the darkness. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Cyrus and Terra whirled around. A figure stepped out from the shadows, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The Savage King.

Cyrus cringed, his stomach twisting into knots. Xyloth took one threatening step forward, his eyes red and baleful.

“Terra,” Cyrus whispered, “whatever you’re going to do, I’d do it now.”

“We’re leaving, father,” Terra said. “Don’t try to stop us.”

The King’s eyes narrowed. “You would throw your life away for a peasant?”

“I would,” she replied boldly. “For him and any other person. That’s what makes me different from you. Tell my brothers and sisters I don’t want the throne.”

“What you want doesn’t matter,” the King snapped, taking another step forward.

Cyrus glanced down the vertical pillar of rock and swallowed hard. If he could only find some crevices in the stone, he could try to climb down.

Because jumping is not an option.

“Jump, Cyrus,” Terra whispered, her eyes still locked on her approaching father.

Not in this lifetime.

The King took another long step, closing the distance between them to a mere five feet. Cyrus’s heart beat faster than it ever had in his life. His breathing quickened and his mind went dizzy with vertigo.

Then, suddenly, his body moved of its own accord. He heard the word Jump projected into his mind and his legs moved of their own free will. The King lunged, but Cyrus and Terra flew over the side just beyond his reach.

Cold wind tore at his hair and clothes. The rock wall zipped by in a blur as they plunged with terminal velocity toward the crashing ocean waves below. The air grew thicker as they dropped, and the sudden change in pressure left Cyrus feeling lightheaded. His heart pounded in his chest as the dark blue waters rushed up to meet them.

A roar bellowed, strong and animalistic. Cyrus heard the flapping of great, bat-like wings and saw T’Saunté swooping in. The mighty blue scaled dragon flew below them, then slowly eased back to soften their landing against his thick hide. Even still, when Cyrus crashed down against the back of the massive beast, pain shot through his arms and legs, knocking the wind from his lungs. The dragon’s thick, overlapping scales bit into the skin of his open palms as they arrested his descent, slicing into the flesh.

Terra, whether from luck or having practiced before, landed much more gracefully. Her knees slid into place around his back, her hands up at the side of his neck.

“Let’s go!” she shouted.

T’Saunté wasted no time. Shooting off like a rocket, the blue dragon took to the sky, zipping just beneath the clouds. Only now did Cyrus realize just how much speed T’Saunté had been holding back when they’d first flown in.

Glancing to the rear, he saw the towering island of Candore fading into the distance. But something was moving at the center of the spire.

Squinting against the gloom of night, he finally saw what it was. A small army of dragons covered the second entrance like bees swarming from a hive.

“We’ve got company!” he shouted over the buffeting wind.

Terra looked back and the color drained from her cheeks. “What are we going to do?”

“How fast is T’Saunté?”

“One of the quickest, but there’s still one or two dragons in Candore that can catch him.”

Shoot, Cyrus thought. We can’t outfly them and there’s nothing but ocean around for us to hide.

He took another look back. T’Saunté’s swift pace had pushed them out of visual range. But it wouldn’t last long once the other dragons had time to build up speed.

“Head above the clouds!” he shouted. “It’s our only chance!”

Terra nodded, and without a word T’Saunté shot up toward the thick region of clouds above them. Cyrus held on for dear life, afraid he might slide off the dragon’s back during his near vertical ascent. With any luck the other dragons would keep flying straight while they changed directions. T’Saunté burst through the heavy layer of clouds and leveled off at a more horizontal angle.

Lit by the full moon, the sky seemed to stretch on for an eternity in every direction. Looming in the distance was a massive island, hovering in the sky as if gravity had no effect on it. A green carpet of trees dotted the topside. The bottom of the island looked like an immense dirt clod with roots poking out in every direction. It was as if a giant had ripped it from the earth and hurled it into the sky, but it had never come back down.

Cyrus’s mouth dropped open. Even though he was staring right at it, he couldn’t believe his eyes. As they drew closer he heard the steady sound of rushing waters. He took a hard blink as he saw several waterfalls pouring down the sides of a smaller island hovering just above the first. As the water rained down it collected into a crystal-clear lake amid the forest.

Staring in amazement, Cyrus realized that these were just two of many floating islands.

Each body of land was unique in its composition; some were blanketed in lush jungles; others were bordered by sandy beaches and filled with palm trees; one was made of jagged rock that looked more like the end of a spear than an island. Most were only a few miles in diameter, but the largest was twenty to twenty-five times that size.

Even T’Saunté seemed mesmerized by the beautiful islands, and for a moment they simply hovered there, staring in wonder at the marvel before them.

“What are we going to do?” Terra whispered urgently. “One of the dragons chasing us has the power to see for miles, even through clouds.”

Cyrus gritted his teeth and looked over the floating land masses, evaluating his options.

“We have to hide on one of the islands,” he declared.

“Wait!” Terra said nervously. “You do know these islands are home to the Wild Dragons, right?”

“Wild Dragons?”

“The ones Candore hasn’t tamed.”

“Great,” he said wryly. “Things just keep getting better and better.”

“The Riders are almost here!” Terra squealed.

No choice. We’ll just have to hope for the best.

“Head for that small island near the middle!” he said, pointing to the one he’d chosen.

Flapping his great wings, T’Saunté flew quickly but quietly. The land mass was overgrown with thick forests, offering them plenty of cover. T’Saunté touched down, skidding to a stop next to a creek running the length of the island.

Sliding down the dragon’s back, Terra whispered fervently, “Hurry into the trees!”

And pray the Wild Dragons aren’t in there . . . Cyrus thought, falling into step behind her.

A lump formed in his throat as he realized they not only had to escape the Dragon Riders’ notice, but stay hidden from the Wild Dragons as well. They were hiding from their enemy behind another enemy’s lines.

Bursting into the forest, Cyrus, Terra, and T’Saunté stopped just within the tree line. Stooping down, Cyrus put his hand against a tree to steady himself, afraid that even the slightest movement would catch the eye of a dragon. He strained his ears, listening for any sort of rustling in the forest. But all that he heard were his own heavy gasps of air.

For a long while they sat silently . . . and waited.

I don’t think they saw us.

From here they could see the majority of the other islands without giving away their position. Cyrus glanced at the dense canopy shielding their presence from above.

Turning to T’Saunté, he suggested, “You might want to turn into your smaller form. Just in case.”

The dragon glared at him, but Terra rubbed her hand across the creature’s neck. “It’s all right,” she said soothingly. “We can trust him.”

T’Saunté gave Cyrus another hard look but complied with his request, transforming into the small serpent-like creature he’d first seen, no bigger than a dog.

“Um . . . thank you,” Cyrus said awkwardly.

Huddling together, they watched and waited, hoping the layer of trees would be enough to thwart their relentless pursuers.

Then a blood-chilling howl echoed through the night.