The War of the Masters
Chapter Eight

Cyrus woke with a throbbing headache. Taking a moment to collect his senses, he realized two things: First, that his hands were tied behind his back with a rope knot, and second, that he recognized where he was. It was the small jail of Evidria. In such a minor town, where crime was almost non-existent, there was only one cell in the entire prison.

Checking his belongings, he discovered his breastplate still fastened to his chest, but both his sword and his fishing knife were outside the cell, in the far corner of the room, sitting atop the empty sheriff’s desk.

“Cyrus, are you okay?” Terra’s calming voice called out to him. He turned his head to see that she was tied up in the same fashion he was. In the cell with them were two small cages, holding different creatures.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said with a groan. “You?”

“I’m all right, but Kane has taken us prisoner,” Terra said with a shudder.

“What about my parents?”

“I told them to run away, and that we would meet up with them later.”

Cyrus let out a short laugh. “I’m surprised my dad listened.”

“I assured him there was more he could do for us out there. Plus, I told him we have help on the way.”

“Right. T’Saunté should be coming shortly. But I don’t understand. Why did your brother take us prisoner? If we’re suddenly in an all-out war, why didn’t he just kill us?”

“Because no one was there to see it,” Terra answered.

“What do you mean?”

“In my entire life I’ve only heard Kane speak twice, and that’s counting today. He prefers to let his actions do the talking, especially if it portrays how gruesome he is.”

“He must be fun at parties,” Cyrus said dryly.

“The only reason he took us prisoner,” Terra continued, ignoring his remark, “is to show the rest of my family what it means to be at war with him. He’ll kill us slowly, in the most horrific way possible, with the entire royal family as his audience.”

Cyrus paused a moment, thinking over what Terra had just told him.

“Good.”

“Good? Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, every word. The fact that he’s waiting to kill us only means he’s underestimated us. We should have a chance to escape if we keep our eyes open and our wits calm.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Terra replied with a half-hearted smile. She opened her mouth to continue, but Kane sauntered into the jail, cutting her off.

The Prince’s penetrating stare bore into Cyrus. Without breaking his gaze, he took hold of Cyrus’s new sword, unsheathed it, and threw the scabbard on the ground. He turned it so Cyrus could clearly see the word ‘Protector’ on the hilt, then put one hand over the inscription, and the other on the end of the blade.

Kane’s muscles flexed. Slowly the sword started to bend. Blood trickled down his forearm, but he never flinched. The blade strained and groaned beneath the pressure. Then, with a loud crack, the sword snapped in half. The Prince discarded the shattered remains, far from Cyrus’s reach, and marched out of the prison.

“I see what you mean,” Cyrus murmured, shaking his head.

“He’s not even the strongest of my siblings, but he is the most terrifying,” Terra told him.

Cyrus grimaced. He couldn’t imagine dealing with someone even stronger than Kane.

Terra sighed. “My guess is that he’s trying to secure a couple cages big enough to hold us. Then he’ll fly us out of here.”

“We’d better make our move now,” Cyrus said as he shuffled over to Terra, putting his back directly against hers. “Stay still, I’ll try to untie you.”

Cyrus worked quickly at the knot, twisting and tugging. Unable to see what he was doing, his hand accidentally brushed against Terra’s lower back.

“Cyrus! I can’t believe you! Were you just using this as an excuse to touch my derriere?”

Cyrus felt his face turning red. “It was an accident!” he protested. “Remember, I can’t see anything! And ‘touch’ is an exaggeration, don’t you think? If anything, I barely brushed your lower back. Now stay still.”

“No way! After that, you lost your chance. I’m going to be the one to untie the knot!”

“Fine. Whatever, just hurry.” Cyrus said with a slight grin, happy to see she still had her spunk. He had been looking for a way to lighten the mood. Kane’s intimidation would only subdue them if they allowed it; this is exactly what they needed.

Terra’s hands worked nimbly, flying over the ropes restraining Cyrus.

“I’m almost there. Just this one last knot,” Terra said. Without warning, Cyrus felt a sharp pinch on his bottom.

“I . . . uh . . .” Terra mumbled.

“Well, well, well! It’s not so easy after all, now is it?” Cyrus gloated, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “I don’t know what they call ‘knots’ in Candore, but that definitely wasn’t one.”

“Oh, shut your mouth. I’m almost done,” Terra said in a huff. With one last tug, Cyrus’s hands were free. He threw the rope aside and turned to untie Terra.

“Don’t think I’m going to let you forget this one, Princess!” he teased.

“I think we can just call it even after you belched in my face!” Terra retorted.

A burst of laughter bellowed from one of the small cages. “Woo! A bum-pincher and a face belcher! Oh, that’s rich!”

Puzzled, Cyrus turned the cage so it faced him. Inside was a miniature man, only five inches tall, with yellow tights, a green overcoat, and a viridian top hat.

“Nice to meet you!” the miniature man said buoyantly. “The name’s Lucky the Leprechaun. Loved by many, mostly by women!”

Terra raised an eyebrow at his response but Cyrus simply laughed. “Nice to meet you, Lucky,” he replied. “I like your catch phrase.”

“Every epic hero through the ages has had a catch phrase,” Lucky said, spreading his arms wide and looking off into the distance. “So I chose the most fitting.”

“Um, yes. Most certainly,” Cyrus said. “Well, Lucky, do you have any idea how we might get out of here?”

“Not at all,” Lucky said, apparently unworried by his current situation. Cyrus couldn’t help but smile with the little Leprechaun. He was about to ask how Lucky had so much confidence in the face of danger, but Terra caught his attention.

“Hey, Cyrus,” she said, standing beside the other cage in the cell.

“Yeah?”

“This is a Luduan,” Terra informed him, pointing at the small, ferret-looking creature. “It has the ability to discern if someone is telling the truth or lying.”

“Interesting. Let me try it,” Cyrus said, stepping in front of the cage. “My name is Barbarossa.”

The creature shook vigorously in its cage.

“My name is Cyrus,” he tried again.

The creature stopped moving and looked up at him.

“That’s incredible!”

“That’s how they work,” Terra explained. “Not that it does us a lot of good in here.”

“Hold on, I want to try one more,” Cyrus told her, leaning in close to the Luduan. “Terra is a bum-pincher.”

The creature stayed still, looking up at Cyrus with its glossy black eyes.

“Aha! See, Terra, you are a bum-pincher. The Luduan has spoken!”

“Oh my word, Cyrus! That’s ridiculous!” Terra admonished with a roll of her eyes and a half-smile. “Can we get down to planning our escape?”

“Of course,” Cyrus answered, still grinning triumphantly. He glanced through the barred window in their cell. “The two hours should be up in about fifteen minutes. I guess we’ll have to sit tight until T’Saunté gets here.”

Terra nodded. “As soon as he’s in range I’ll call out to him telepathically.”

They both sat with their backs against the wall. Cyrus noticed Terra biting her lip, as if she were mulling something over in her mind.

“So, what exactly were those giant beasts following Kane?” Cyrus asked, closing his eyes.

“They’re called Dire Wolves; creatures raised from the dead with the sole purpose to hunt and kill,” Terra explained.

“That’s disturbing.”

“You have no idea.”

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Cyrus massaged his sore eyelids, hoping to get rid of the headache Kane had given him. Other than the short period he was knocked out, he hadn’t slept since his clash with the Savage King. Being awake most of the night was starting to take its toll, but he knew that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t sleep at a time like this.

Instead he thought back to what his mother had done with the board. Somehow she had adhered it to her hand like glue, but how?

As he wrestled with the question, a new notion entered his mind: if she could do that . . . could he?

Cyrus placed both hands against the wooden floorboards, not sure what to expect or how to even try. He closed his eyes and imagined the hard paneling sticking to his palms. At first nothing happened, but after a moment’s concentration he felt and heard the wood straining against his left hand.

Or was that my imagination?

He opened his eyes to see Terra pacing. Maybe the sound had only been the floorboards creaking under her. But he could have sworn he felt something from his left hand.

“T’Saunté’s here!” Terra exclaimed. “I’ve asked him to take out the back wall!”

Startled, Cyrus sprang to his feet alongside her. The brick wall began to char and turn to ash. Instinctively he glanced at the front door to make sure no one was watching. The room’s still empty—except for . . .

Cyrus’s eyes ran across his broken sword and an idea popped into his head. Drawing on his fishing experience, he took the loose rope, tied a loop in it, and cast it over his weapon. The make-shift lasso caught around the guard and tightened. Cyrus pulled the sword into his cell and picked it up, slashing it through the air a couple times. The blade was much shorter and lighter than before, closer to a dagger, and the broken tip drew to a jagged point.

Better than nothing, Cyrus thought as he secured the blade at his side.

T’Saunté’s flames had started at the top of the wall and worked their way down, slowly melting the bricks, and leaving a three-foot by three-foot hole at chest height.

A piercing howl resonated over the sound of the roaring fire, announcing the coming onslaught of the Dire Wolves.

Cyrus gritted his teeth. No time to wait. We need to move now if we’re going to help T’Saunté. He looked into the Princess’s beautiful emerald eyes and saw not fear, but a strong determination.

“I asked T’Saunté telepathically to stop breathing fire,” Terra said. “But the wall is still incinerating.”

I’ve always wanted to jump through a blazing inferno, Cyrus thought sarcastically.

He looked at the tiny Leprechaun. “Lucky, if we can release you from this cage, would you help us in return?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” Lucky answered with an exaggerated nod of the head. His answer came with such enthusiasm that it almost sounded sarcastic to Cyrus. Normally he wouldn’t believe him, but Cyrus stole a glance at the Luduan and it was sedentary, still peering up at him.

“All right, sounds like a plan,” Cyrus said, picking up the two cages. “Hang on, Lucky.”

He waved for Terra to go first; the building’s integrity was falling apart, and he had to get her out of the jail before the roof collapsed.

Terra nodded and backed up to one corner of the cell. Taking a deep breath, she broke into a sprint, and dove through the fiery opening. Cyrus peered through the smoke and saw her land outside, tucking into a roll before springing back to her feet.

My turn, Cyrus thought nervously.

Eyes watering from the smoke, he shoved his nose into the crook of his elbow and exploded into a dead run. Cyrus leapt through the scorched gap in the wall, tucking the two cages close to his chest.

His landing wasn’t nearly as graceful as Terra’s. He hit the ground with a hard thud, but otherwise made it out unscathed. A small clearing stretched before him with a forest twenty-five feet away.

“Terra, can T’Saunté free our new friends?”

Responding to the Princess’s telepathic question, the blue dragon reached down and tore apart the tiny metal bars like they were made of straw.

“I’m free!” Lucky shouted as he burst out of his prison.

“Yes, you are. Just don’t forget our deal,” Cyrus reminded him.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got this!” Lucky assured him with a proud smile and a thumbs up. “Lucky the Bold will save you!” He began to sing about a great warrior—also named Lucky—as he quickly climbed up T’Saunté’s scales and onto his back.

Time to get out of here.

Out of nowhere, a gray blur smashed into the side of T’Saunté. Cyrus blinked twice, then saw that it was not one blur, but three.

The Dire Wolves.

T’Saunté tumbled across the uneven ground but recovered quickly. Spreading his wings to their full length, the dragon let out a deafening roar.

“T’Saunté!” Terra screamed, running toward her faithful companion. Cyrus joined her, unsure if they could even help against the Dire Wolves.

Suddenly two Koh’Lahni soldiers emerged from the side of the burning jail. Garbed in light armor, they unsheathed their swords, and blocked the path to T’Saunté.

“Stop!” the first guard shouted. “You two are under arrest!”

Cyrus cringed. Raising his sword against his fellow countrymen was precisely what he had hoped to avoid. His instincts told him to turn and run, but he couldn’t abandon T’Saunté; the dragon was already dealing with three Dire Wolves. Terra looked at him for reassurance. He could see the distress etched across her features for her lifelong friend.

Cyrus’s eyes turned to the ground as he realized this was his last moment on Koh’Lahni soil as a blameless citizen. Though it pained him, he knew what he had to do. Drawing his sword, he raised his head and glared at the two soldiers with fire in his eyes.

His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “My entire country has turned against me. I might as well give them a reason for it.”

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