The Fall of Kyrace by Jonathan Moeller

Author:Jonathan Moeller
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Tags: Science Fiction & Fantasy, Horror, Dark Fantasy, One Hour (33-43 Pages), Greek & Roman, Fantasy, Myths & Legends, Historical, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: Azure Flame Media, LLC
Published: 2014-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

"The Tower of Storm," said Tyndaros. "Take me there. Quickly!" His voice rose. "The rest of you, you have fought manfully, but it is over. You may leave your posts with honor. Those of you who are slaves, you are free from this moment. The ships wait at the hidden harbor, to escape. If you hasten, you might yet make it in time. Go!"

Some of the soldiers stayed at their posts. But most left, running into the higher circles of the city, to the secret tunnels that led to the hidden harbor, where ships waited to take the women and children to safety in New Kyre.

“If the gate is undefended,” said Rykon, “the city will fall all the faster.”

“The city has already fallen,” said Tyndaros. “It is only question of time. Better that they flee to the ships than die upon the walls. Now, hasten! To the Tower of Storm!”

Rykon led the Archon through the circles of the city, past the ziggurats with their terraces, rippling ponds, and lush gardens, past the temples to the gods of storm and sea and salt, along the broad streets that climbed ever higher up the slopes of the Broken Mountain.

Until they came to the Tower of Storm.

The massive ziggurat rose from the highest circle of the city, fifteen steep tiers of polished granite. Every tier had its own ponds and gardens, beautiful even in the glow of the burning lower city. From here the Archons had ruled over the scattered Kyracian people from Ril Kyrion in the far north to Kyrikos in the south.

Until today.

They entered the Tower’s courtyard. Nine massive statues, each carved from a single block of green dolomite, stood over a central reflecting pool. Each statue represented one of the great elementals that had been bound within the Broken Mountain, when the first Archon and his people had fled here from the mainland.

“Good,” said the Archon, breathing hard, “good. There is still time.”

“To do what?” said Rykon. “The city is lost, you said so yourself.”

“Aye,” said Tyndaros, looking at the Broken Mountain’s jagged peak. “Aye, the city is lost. But I swear to you, by the gods of sea and storm, that the Empire will never possess Kyrace. I swear to you that the Imperial eagle shall never fly over the Tower of Storm. And I swear to you that the Empire will pay a bitter price for having ever set foot in Kyrace.”

“How?” said Rykon.

“There is a secret,” said Tyndaros, “passed down from Archon to Archon from the beginning of Kyrace. These statues are not just symbols. They are…anchors, the linchpins of the mighty spells binding the great elemental spirits within the Broken Mountain. Without those elementals, this island would be uninhabitable.” He placed one hand upon the nearest statue and looked at Rykon. “And I shall break those spells.”

Rykon blinked. “What will happen?”

“I do not know,” said Tyndaros, and Rykon had the impression that the old man lied. “But it will not be good for the Imperial army. Or for anyone left upon the island, for that matter.

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