A Realm of Shadows by Morgan Rice Page B

thought about their sailing
closer and closer to Escalon, to a land filled with dragons and inhabited by
Pandesian soldiers.
    “Why would we
sail to our deaths?” he pressed.
    Sovos finally turned
to him.
    “Because of what
you hold in your hand,” he replied. “It is all that Escalon has left now.”
    Alec looked down
at the sword in his palm with an even greater sense of awe and wonder.
    “You really
think this small piece of metal will have any effect against Pandesia? Against
a host of dragons?” he asked, dreading the journey before them. For the first
time in his life, Alec felt certain that he was heading to his death.
    “Sometimes, my
dear boy,” Sovos said, laying a hand on his shoulder, “a small piece of metal
is the only hope there is.”
     

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
     
     
    Merk looked out at
the Three Daggers as they sailed past them, craggy islands emerging from the bay,
steep, vertical, and devoid of life. Covered in strange, angry black birds with
large red eyes that cawed fiercely at them as they passed, the isles were
covered in the mist of the bay, the relentless waves of the Bay of Death
smashing up against them as if trying to knock them back into the sea. It sent up
clouds of white foam and mist toward Merk’s boat, dousing it, and he studied
the scene in wonder. He was grateful he was not to be stranded here, the most desolate
and unforgiving place he had ever seen. It made the Devil’s Finger seem
hospitable.
    “The Three Daggers,”
came the voice.
    Merk turned to
see Lorna standing beside him, holding the rail, studying the sea with her large,
glowing blue eyes, silvery-blonde hair. She stood there calmly, despite the violent
currents of the Bay of Death, a beacon of life against the bleak landscape,
staring out at the sea as if she and the waters were one.
    “The isles said
to be forged by the great goddess Inka. Legend tells she spewed forth her anger
from the sea when looking for her three lost daughters,” she added. “Beyond the
third lies the isle of Knossos.”
    Merk looked out
and saw, just beyond the third rocky isle, an isle of cliffs rising straight
out of the sea, ringed by a narrow, rocky shore. At its top was a flat plateau,
and atop this sat a fort built a hundred feet high. It was squat, square, gray,
and adorned with ancient battlements; its walls had long, narrow slits cut in
them, behind which Merk could see the tips of glistening arrows at the ready.  The
fort was a stout, ugly thing, as if one with the rock itself, sprayed by mist
and wind and breaking waves, and taking it all in stride.
    Even more
impressive were the warriors that Merk spotted as they sailed closer. The wind
and the currents carried them at full speed now, right for its shores, and soon
Merk could see their hardened faces staring out. He could see even from here
that they were the faces of surly men, men who had no joy in life. They lined
the battlements like goats, hundreds of them, peering out into the sea as if eagerly
awaiting an enemy.
    They were the
hardest-looking men Merk had ever seen—and that was saying a lot. They were donned
in gray armor, with gray swords and gray helmets, the same color of the rock behind
them, their visors pulled down, narrow slits for eyes looking out behind the
helmets. These men looked as if they, too, had been forged from the rock. They
were men who did not even budge when a gale of wind arrived that was strong
enough to turn Merk’s boat sideways. They looked as if they were rooted to the
place, a part of the very earth itself.
    Here, at last, was
Knossos, the last outpost off the last peninsula of Escalon, right in the center
of the swirling waters of the Bay of Death. It was the most remote place Merk had
ever seen, and clearly not for the faint of heart.
    “What is their
purpose of this place?” Merk asked. “What do they defend?”
    Lorna shook her
head, still looking out.
    “There are many
things you have yet to understand,” she replied. “We all