Rise of the Dragons Read Online Free PDF Page A

and Braxton laughed, and Aidan
looked to Kyra, as if wanting to know what to do.
    She shook her head.
    “Don’t waste your effort,” she said to
him. “The truth always prevails.”
    The throngs thickened as they crossed
over the bridge, soon shoulder to shoulder with the masses as they passed over
the moat. Kyra could feel the excitement in the air as twilight fell, torches
lit up and down the bridge, the snowfall quickening. She looked up before her
and her heart quickened, as always, to see the huge, arched stone gate to the
fort, guarded by a dozen of her father’s men. At its top were the spikes of an
iron portcullis, now raised, its sharpened points and thick bars strong enough
to keep out any foe, ready to be closed at the mere sound of a horn. The gate
rose thirty feet high, and at its top was a broad platform, spreading across
the entire fort, wide stone battlements manned with lookouts, always keeping a
vigilant eye. Volis was a fine stronghold, Kyra had always thought, taking
pride in it. What gave her even more pride were the men inside it, her father’s
men, many of Escalon’s finest warriors, slowly regrouping in Volis after being
dispersed since the surrender of their King, drawn like a magnet to her father.
More than once she had urged her father to declare himself the new King, as all
his people wanted him to—but he would always merely shake his head and say that
was not his way.
    As they neared the gate, a dozen of her
father’s men charged out on their horses, the masses parting for them as they
rode out for the training ground, a wide, circular embankment in the fields
outside the fort ringed by a low, stone wall. Kyra turned and watched them go,
her heart quickening. The training grounds were her favorite place. She would
go there and watch them spar for hours, studying every move they made, the way
they rode their horses, the way they drew their swords, hurled spears, swung
flails. These men rode out to train despite the coming dark and falling snow,
even on the eve of a holiday feast, because they wanted to train, to
better themselves, because they would all rather be on a battlefield than
feasting indoors—like her. These, she felt, were her true people.
    Another group of her father’s men came
out, these on foot, and as Kyra approached the gate with her brothers, these
men stepped aside, with the masses, making room for Brandon and Braxton as they
approached with the boar. They whistled in admiration and gathered around,
large, muscle-bound men, standing a foot taller than even her brothers who were
not small, most of them wearing beards peppered with gray, all hardened men in
their thirties and forties who had seen too many battles, who had served the
old King and had suffered the indignity of his surrender. Men who would have
never surrendered on their own. These were men who had seen it all and who were
not impressed by much—but they did seem taken with the boar.
    “Kill that on your own, did you?” one of
them asked Brandon, coming close and examining it.
    The crowd thickened and Brandon and
Braxton finally stopped, taking in the praise and admiration of these great
men, trying not to show how hard they were breathing.
    “We did!” Braxton called out proudly.
    “A Black-Horned,” exclaimed another
warrior, coming up close, running his hand along the back of it. “Haven’t seen
one since I was a boy. Helped kill one myself, once—but I was with a party of
men—and two of them lost fingers.”
    “Well, we lost nothing,” Braxton called
out boldly. “Just a spear head.”
    Kyra burned as the men all laughed,
clearly admiring the kill, while another warrior, their leader, Anvin, stepped
forward and examined the kill closely. The men parted for him, giving him a
wide berth of respect.
    Her father’s commander, Anvin was Kyra’s
favorite of all the men, answering only to her father, presiding over these
fine warriors. Anvin had been like a second father to her, and she had