The Iron Empire

And so, the search began.

From tent to tent she went, acting as casual as possible, carrying a box she’d found with a bunch of bandages and ointments — somewhere a medic was wondering where in the world he’d misplaced it. Guards and soldiers were everywhere, but, after all, this was an army camp, so she stopped being alarmed at the sight. The entire camp was a busy beehive — supplies being packed, food being prepared, smiths working on weapons, soldiers practicing with swords and spears, servants hustling about so as not to get trampled.

On Sera went, scouring the place with her eyes to find anything that looked like —

And then she spotted it.

One tent towered over the others around it, but she hadn’t been able to see it before because of so many smaller tents obscuring her view. The one she saw now was grand and painted in many colors and had a row of soldiers guarding all four sides of it. If there’d ever been a tent fit for a king, that was it.

She made her way toward it, racking her brain for an idea of how to actually get inside. All she needed was five minutes — no, maybe even one minute — with King Philip before she could convince him. She knew it. Especially if Alexander had already arrived — he’d remember her for sure. And know that she was a friend to his mentor.

Getting more scared with each and every step she took toward the front flaps of the huge tent, she didn’t allow herself to slow. Somehow, someway, she would get inside. Sometimes, being a young person had its advantages — no one would take her as a real threat.

She was about thirty feet away, squeezing past a compact crowd of people going about their business, when a commotion to the far right of the tent caught her attention. Several soldiers were shouting and pushing their way toward the very spot to which Sera was headed. When they finally broke free and came into her line of view, she stopped and sucked in a quick take of air.

It was Alexander, dragging a soldier — the man who’d captured Sera and her friends — by the scruff of his shirt. As for Alex, he looked as angry as he had when he’d left them back at the palace of his mother, charging away on his horse, Bucephalus. Several other soldiers were with him, and bringing up the rear was Aristotle, completely free of bindings.

What in the world . . . ? She had no idea what to think of it, especially upon seeing that Dak and Riq weren’t with him. That scared her to no end.

Alexander dragged the soldier all the way to the front of the king’s tent and then threw him onto the ground.

“Any man who can’t tell the greatness of Aristotle on sight doesn’t deserve to live!” he yelled, then reared back like he was going to kick the poor guy, but stopped at the last second, looking back at his master, who was shaking his head back and forth. “Mercy, then. Get back to your duties, soldier.”

The man, though obviously hurt, was more than happy to oblige. He jumped to his feet and disappeared quickly into the crowd. Sera acted on instinct, knowing that her chance lay before her like a gift from the Greek gods. She ran forward, straight toward the heir to the king.

“Alexander!” she yelled. “Aristotle! It’s me, Sera!”

A couple of guards around Alex jolted to attention — one of them lifted a spear as if to chuck it right at Sera. But Alexander quickly reached out and stopped him.

“No,” he ordered. “I know this girl. She’s a friend.”

And just like that, Sera was officially free. Not able to help herself, she ran to Aristotle and threw her arms around him, hugging the man as if he were the uncle she missed so much from back home. He returned the hug, soothing her with soft words.

“What happened?” she asked, pulling back a bit. “Where are Dak and Riq?”

A grave look shadowed the philosopher’s face. “It’s been a very complicated few hours. I . . . volunteered myself to die — as silly as it sounds — because I hoped I’d be brought before the king or one of his council members as a matter of policy. Someone finally — finally — recognized me and informed Alex, who arrived just yesterday. However . . . as for your friends . . .”

“What?” Sera yelled, her heart forgetting how to beat.

“It was too late when I had them sent for. They’ve been taken to the front line, and communication on that front is poor to say the least. But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to get them back — as well as the boy’s parents — before any real fighting takes place. Please try not to worry.”

He must’ve read her face, because the worry almost engulfed her. Not to mention the guilt. If she hadn’t escaped from the pit, she could’ve used the Infinity Ring to whisk them all away once they were sent to the front line.

But then she remembered the reason they were here to begin with.

“Have you told him everything?” she asked Aristotle, throwing a wary glance toward Alexander.

The philosopher shook his head slightly. “He knows enough, but the boy seems to have a hard time believing I’m not a cracked pot.”

“I’m standing right here, you know,” Alexander replied. “Listen, both of you. I have more guards around me than I’d ever need. I am keeping an eye on my father. All is well. Let’s go inside and plan our strategies. War is coming.”

Aristotle gave Sera a look that was almost comical, a What’re-you-gonna-do look. They followed Alexander and the rest of the soldiers and guards into the grand tent of King Philip. Upon entering, Sera’s chest swelled with awe. There were fancy carpets and bronze bowls with red-hot coals and thick pillows strewn about for sitting. And, most majestic of all, was the king himself — it had to be him — sitting in a gilded chair, gazing intently at a map rolled open on his lap. Sera was excited to meet him and wished Dak could be there with her — but as it turned out, there was no time for introductions.

The king stood when he saw Alexander, and gruffly handed the map over to a young page waiting beside him.

“Son!” he yelled, with not a hint of joy at seeing him. “Your timing is impeccable. I’ve just been told that the Persians have taken the initiative and are moving in rapidly. Our front line will soon be under attack.”

DAK HAD tried to hold on to hope as he, Riq, and a large group of others were sent in a horse-drawn cart through the massive army toward the front line. He kept telling himself that Sera would make a difference, figure out what to do, save them. That he and Riq would find his parents and have a happy reunion, then hang out until someone figured out that this group of people from the future didn’t belong on any side of an army, let alone the front.