The Iron Empire

Riq was free now, but in too awkward of a position to do much. Dak could see him attempting to get into a sitting position, but the horse’s jouncing movement slammed him back onto his stomach. Dak kept struggling, avoiding the man’s punches and elbows, weaving and ducking his head in all directions. Squeezing as tightly as possible with his arms lassoed around the soldier’s chest, Dak picked up his flailing feet and settled their soles against the side of the horse. Then he jerked backward with his arms and kicked out with his feet.

It worked.

He and the soldier tumbled off of the horse and slammed into the ground.

Riq scrambled, twisting this way and that until he could finally get in a position to throw himself into the seat of the now-empty saddle. Filled with dread at what might’ve happened or would happen to Dak, he grabbed the reins and pulled back, too much too fast. The horse reared up on its back legs, kicking its front ones, and Riq toppled off as well, landing with a graceless thump onto the ground.

But then he was on his feet. Running. He saw Dak and the soldier who’d kidnapped him each struggling to gain the upper hand. Even as he looked, Riq saw the man climb on top, pinning Dak down with his legs.

“No!” Riq shouted, running harder.

The soldier pulled a dagger out of some hidden pocket, lifted it toward the sky, ready to drive it down and end Dak’s life. Riq was too far away. His throat almost ripped from the scream that burst out of his lungs. The man’s arms swung with a mighty force toward Dak’s chest.

There was a blur of movement, a flash of brown, an inhuman squeal of rage.

Like magic, from nowhere, Sera and her horse jumped out of the nearby fray, leaping through the air. The animal’s front hooves crashed into the soldier on top of Dak, throwing him violently off and sending the dagger in a flying spin until it landed with a thud in a patch of flattened grass. The soldier lay still to the side of Dak, dazed or dead, Riq didn’t care.

He picked up his friend, finding strength from somewhere deep, and threw him onto the horse behind Sera. Then he himself used a stirrup to join them, leaping onto the horse’s back, reaching forward to squeeze both Sera and Dak in one big hug.

“Go!” he yelled, and they went.

DAK REALIZED now that he knew almost nothing about war and its horrors. But there was one thing he’d come to understand, and it was hard-won wisdom: Rarely were there true winners in a battle — what with the lives lost, injuries sustained, and loved ones devastated. But he had a feeling that the armies of Alexander would cross the world and do good things in the long run, despite the losses and heartache. And, at least for one day, they’d taken a successful step and driven back the armies of Persia and their surprise invasion.

Now he sat with his friends around a fire, its smoke floating up like a stream of ghosts to disappear out of a hole in the top of King Philip’s tent. The former hegemon, now dead. Alexander was king now, and he sat on a stool, staring at the flames, probably brooding about how much his life had changed in such a short time. He’d never wept for his father, but his face had shown it all, especially when he’d ridden back into camp atop his majestic horse, Bucephalus.

As for Dak and his friends, they’d ridden fast and hard, finally finding a break in the battle — enough to get outside the main sea of soldiers and take the long way back to camp, where they’d finally been treated with the respect and care they deserved. Dak was exhausted, sapped of energy, and aching from a million cuts and bruises. Riq and Sera were no better by the looks of it. They’d hardly said a word since returning.

But they’d won. As far as they could tell, they’d won.

The Great Breaks had all been fixed.

Dak was nervous about going back to the future. A small part of him dreaded it, worried that they’d pop into a nightmare of a world, on the brink of collapse and destruction. But most of him — all the good parts — knew they’d succeeded. How he could be so sure, he had no clue. But, deep down, he just knew it.

Aristotle looked the worst out of all of them. The man stood up, his robes and hair filthy, his face marked with a dozen small wounds.

“We must return to Corinth,” he said. “Olympias and Pausanius have been taken there, ready to be judged for their crimes against our former king. We have a long journey ourselves.” He raised a hand to stop Sera before she could even get the words out. “No, my child. My days using the Infinity Ring are over, I’m afraid. We’ll be traveling the old-fashioned way.”

Dak liked the sound of that. He liked it a lot. A trip through Greece? Seeing the sights? His spirits lifted a thousand times. Plus, what was the rush getting back to their own day? They had all the time in the world. He snickered at his brilliant thought, something he’d been waiting a long time to think.

“What do you think about your parents disappearing?” Alexander suddenly asked — the man rarely spoke, and when he did, he made you want to jump through hoops to give him a good answer. “Troubling, is it not?”

Actually, it wasn’t. Sera had warned him that it would happen, which had given him an opportunity to say good-bye to his mom and dad before they’d ghosted out. Because they had been cut loose in the time stream without the Ring, it was the Great Breaks that had kept them stuck in the past, warping from one Break to another until only the Prime Break remained. And with that now fixed, the fabric of reality was able to heal itself. That meant anomalies like Dak’s parents were being sent back where they belonged.

At least, that’s what Sera had said. Dak was too tired to doubt any of it.

“I’m not worried,” he told Alexander, not wanting to start a discussion about the intricacies of time travel. “My mom and dad have always had their own way of doing things. We’ll . . . see them soon enough.”

The new king nodded, surely thinking about how he’d just lost his own parents. But he was too focused on the huge task ahead of him to let anything daunt him for long. “I admire your spirit, boy. I liked you from the instant I saw you climb the statue of Plato. May the gods bless you all.” He stood up as if to leave — even though it was his own tent now — but Riq didn’t let him go.

“Wait,” he said. “Alex — I mean, King . . . Lord hegemon . . .” He looked at Dak in desperation, not knowing how to address him.

“Just call him Alexander,” Dak replied, loving every second of it.

“Speak your mind,” the king ordered. “I’m weary and need to rest for the battles to come.”