Author's Notes: So, since I forgot to mention this earlier, the following characters do belong to me: Bridden, Cerdic, and Zolana. I'm not married to them or anything; they're just not part of the MOTU/POP canon.
Chapter Eight
It had been a day of memories, and as she slipped under the covers of her bed, the Sorceress of Grayskull mentally braced herself for the dreams to come- dreams of family, and devastation, and life-changing decisions.
She dreamt of Adora's abduction, instead; and the dream-memory was just as intense as the actual event. As they had eighteen years before, the Sorceress's powers of omnipotence meant that she knew the thoughts of everyone involved in the drama- Hordak's desire for revenge and power… Skeletor's maniacal eagerness at stealing his brother's happiness… Marlena's terror for her children, and her determination to protect them. And just like all those years ago, the Sorceress could do nothing to stop the horror unfolding before her. A scream rose in her throat when Hordak snatched Adora from the crib, and she actually cried out when Marlena lunged for them. She wanted to close her eyes, but some unseen force compelled her to watch as villain, queen, and princess disappeared in a flash of blinding light.
The Sorceress jerked awake, gasping for breath and rubbing her constricted throat. Sweat beaded on her forehead, yet she was freezing. Only after she had taken several deep breaths did she become aware that she was not alone. She rubbed her eyes, squinted at something on the other side of the room, and rubbed her eyes again, this time in disbelief.
Floating just in front of her open door- the door she knew she had closed before going to bed- was a glowing sword. The Sorceress slipped cautiously out of bed and crept toward the shimmering rapier, holding her breath the entire time. When she was close enough to touch it, the Sorceress slowly extended trembling fingers toward the sword. A large crystal sparkled in the weapon's hilt, and her fingernails had just barely grazed it when the sword suddenly soared up and out of the room. She ran after it, chasing the blade down the winding corridors and crumbling staircases of her ancient abode, unmindful of the cold stone chilling the soles of her bare feet.
The sword finally stopped in the very center of a large, subterranean room. The jewel glowed even brighter than before, and as she stepped closer, the Sorceress could see that a multicolored orb had formed in the heart of the crystal. The orb pulsed, swirling with color, and expanded until it completely filled the jewel, then streamed out and formed a protective rainbow around the sword's outline.
Several minutes passed before the Sorceress broke the silence. She gasped, and tears of understanding and joy slipped unchecked down her cheeks as she whispered, reverently,
"Oh, Ancients! You've found her! You've finally found Adora."
Prince Adam stood before the entrance of Castle Grayskull, waiting patiently for the Sorceress to lower the drawbridge. The sun was just beginning to tint the sky with dawn's early light, and the breeze typical of Eternian nights lingered, ruffling Adam's hair. He sighed. At his feet, Cringer yawned and stretched.
The drawbridge finally creaked its way to the ground, and Adam and Cringer stepped inside the castle. They headed immediately for the throne room, where they found the Sorceress standing at the window, staring out at the encroaching dawn.
"Hello, Adam." She murmured without turning. Her voice was eerily calm, especially given the urgent tone of her earlier telepathic message: Adam! Come quickly! Eternia needs her champion! Adam had fully expected to see Skeletor and his minions storming the castle. All was quiet, however, and a sense of peace and tranquility permeated the cool air of the fortress. Adam did not see anything that required his, or He-Man's, immediate attention.
"You sent for me, Sorceress?" Adam said, careful to hide his confusion and fatigue.
"Yes. I need you to deliver something for me."
Adam bit back a groan. He had hoped that the Sorceress's assignment would be quick, and local, so that he could return promptly to the palace, preferably before his father noticed that he was gone. Adam wondered how Duncan would explain his absence this time. He imagined that Duncan was as tired of lying as he was, and he hoped that whatever the Sorceress wanted delivered was important enough to warrant another falsehood.
She turned then, and Adam's eyes widened in astonishment. Floating inches above her palms was a shimmering sword. As the prince watched, the sword righted itself and floated toward him.
"This is what you want me to deliver?"
The Sorceress nodded. Adam peered closely at the blade and discovered that it was almost an exact replica of his own Sword of Power- the only difference was the hilt, where a large crystal winked at him.
"This is the Sword of Protection," the Sorceress announced, "It is very powerful, and I need you to find its rightful owner."
"Where is its rightful owner?"
"On another world. I will open a portal for you."
Adam inwardly groaned. So much for being home before breakfast!
"What world?"
"I cannot tell you."
The prince raised his eyebrows. The Sorceress had a talent for mystery, but she had always given him at least the name of his destination. He almost pressed her, but decided against it. If there was one thing he had learned over the past two years, it was that the Sorceress was never going to tell him one iota more than she thought he needed to know.
"Alright," he acquiesced, "Who is the owner of the sword, then?"
"I cannot tell you."
Adam closed his eyes and swallowed a sigh of frustration before asking, "If you cannot give me a name or description, then how will I know who I should be looking for?"
"You will not know… but the sword will, and it will tell you when you have found its owner."
"A talking sword?" Adam asked cheekily.
The Sorceress stared back at him, her gaze boring into his until he began to squirm. Only after he had lowered his eyes to the floor and muttered an apology did she speak again.
"If there are no more questions, young prince, I will open the portal."
She strolled to the center of the room, raised her arms, and began chanting. Soon a splash of light appeared before her. As the light brightened, and the portal expanded, a shadowy image began to form. Adam could just make out the figures of what looked like trees. Cringer pressed himself against Adam's leg and whimpered. The Sorceress turned to them, fatigue evident on her face.
"Are you ready?"
Adam nodded and looked down at his pet.
"C'mon, Cringe."
He strode toward the portal, followed closely by both Cringer and the mysterious sword. When they reached the mouth of the mystical gate, the Sorceress murmured something foreign, and the sword leapt into Adam's sheath. Metal slid against metal, and then the two swords pressed together. Adam made a mental note that the Sword of Power was the one closest to his back. He moved to enter the portal, but was stopped by a hand dropping on his shoulder. He looked back to find the Sorceress smiling sadly at him.
"Whatever happens, Adam, remember this: sometimes we lie to the ones we love, because we love them."
With that, she gently pushed Adam through the portal. The light faded quickly, and by the time Adam realized what had happened, the portal had closed completely. He glanced down at Cringer; the large cat was busy covering his face with his paws. He then looked at their surroundings and sighed.
Prince and pet were completely alone, stranded in an alien forest thick with pastel-colored foliage.
Marlena closed her eyes, inhaled deeply… and gagged as the scent of blood and terror assailed her nostrils. She swallowed back bile and mentally cursed herself for her momentary stupidity. After eleven years of toiling in the infirmary, she should have known better than to take deep breaths. The odor of intense suffering had always permeated this particular section of the Fright Zone; and no matter how many times a week Marlena scoured every square inch of the infirmary, the smell always returned, stronger than before.
Of course, it did not help that Horde attacks had increased to a fever pitch over the past year. Every day, hundreds of prisoners were brought to the Fright Zone; and those who had been injured in the raids on their homes were dragged to the infirmary. Hordak's orders were very simple: do not let anyone die. Death, the tyrant had explained to his chief physician on more than one occasion, was a form of escape- and no one escaped from the Fright Zone. Besides, dead people could not be enslaved. Hordak did not really need slaves, since more than enough robot troopers were manufactured each year to serve the Horde. Slavery was just another method of torture, and Bridden's task was to make sure that new prisoners lived long enough to suffer. Marlena's task was to assist Bridden.
Two days after seven year-old Adora began training to become a Horde soldier, Marlena was brought to Hordak's throne room. She had been fairly certain that she was about to be executed, and as two troopers threw her at Hordak's feet, she prayed only for her daughter's protection. Then, she stood and stared defiantly at her captor.
"For seven years," Hordak began, "you have served as Adora's caregiver, tending to her needs. You have also tried to protect her from the fate that I have planned for her, and you have failed. She is in training even as we speak, and General Tarza tells me that your daughter will make a splendid soldier. Her childhood is over. She no longer needs a caregiver." He rose from his throne and strode over to stand in front of his prisoner; then caught her chin in his hand, pushed his face into hers, and breathed into her ear, "So, tell me, Marlena, what do I do with you?"
The queen stared straight ahead, fighting the urge to struggle in Hordak's grasp. He squeezed her chin, his fingers digging cruelly into her jaw. Still she would neither cry out nor answer his question, and after several more seconds he released her.
"I have decided," he said after a long moment of silence, "that you will serve me. What do you think about that?"
"Rot in hell."
Hordak laughed softly, humorlessly, then smacked Marlena harshly across the face. The blow knocked her to the ground; she tried to stand, but a strong kick to the back sent her halfway across the room. She could hear footsteps approaching her when she landed, and hastily brought her hands to her head and her knees to her chest. She bit her lip to keep from screaming as Hordak's feet found the unprotected parts of her body. He kicked her mercilessly for over a minute, then reached down and jerked her to her feet. She tried to turn her head away, to avoid another blow, but he wrapped strong fingers around her neck and pulled her against his body.
"You listen to me," he hissed over her strangled gasps, "You think you have suffered these last seven years, but you do not yet know what suffering is. Defy me again, and you will beg for death." He relinquished his hold on her neck and flung her away from him. As she wheezed and gasped for breath, he returned to his throne and said, "You are to report immediately to the infirmary. Chief Physician Bridden will inform you of your new assignment."
Now, as she plunged her hands into a basin of ice-cold water, Marlena reminded herself that there were advantages to working in the infirmary. The position had allowed her to be at Adora's side five years ago, when her daughter was near death. She had learned a great deal about the world she was on from the prisoners she treated. Several captives spoke of the Great Rebellion, a faction determined to oust the Horde from Etheria. Names of non-occupied cities and villages slipped from captive tongues- Mystacor, Brightmoon, the Whispering Woods- and Marlena made mental note of them all, since these were the places to which she and Adora would need to go when they escaped.
If you escape, a bitter voice mentally reminded her. She shook her head angrily and scrubbed at her hands. The force of the strokes traveled up her arms and chest, causing the rings against her neck to lightly sway and brush her skin. Her anger abruptly vanished. Clean, wet fingers drifted up to her neck and grasped the rings. She closed her eyes again and allowed herself a few seconds of memory.
The first image that appeared was that of her son, Adam. She remembered the intense blue of his eyes… the feathery blonde hair that rested against the curve of his head… the short, wriggling limbs that relaxed when she nursed him. She wondered if his eyes had changed color; Adora's had not. She worried that Skeletor had managed to abduct or murder her son, just as Hordak had taken her and Adora. There was a half-second of agony at the thought; then she remembered the guards who had stormed the nursery just before Hordak opened the portal, and relaxed.
Next she thought of Randor. She did not worry about his survival. Instead, she remembered the times they had spent together. Perhaps because it had been so long since she had been tenderly held or loved, Marlena's memories of her husband were mostly tactile in nature: his fingers in her hair; his lips covering hers; his hands stroking her back or cupping her face. She also remembered the gentle cadence of his voice, and the tender endearments that flowed so naturally from his lips. Sometimes, when the screams of terror and pain seemed too much to bear, or when Bridden's explosive anger turned physical, Marlena would close her eyes and ears and remind herself that once, a long time ago, she had been loved.
These memories, as well as her love for Adora, were the reason why Marlena had not slowly lost her mind over the years. Insanity would have been so much easier. It was, Marlena often thought, the difference between clinging to the edge of a very high cliff and screaming for help, or simply letting go.
The irony of it all was that it would have been easier than ever for Marlena to escape. She was not monitored to nearly the same degree that she had been eleven years ago. Her duties as Bridden's assistant allowed her almost full access to the Fright Zone, and by now she was very familiar with the layout of the Horde's military base. But she would go nowhere without Adora, and Adora would go nowhere without Hordak's express permission. The tyrant had hinted more than once that he would hurt Adora if Marlena ever left the Fright Zone; he and Marlena both knew that she would not risk her daughter's safety.
There were, Marlena knew, two reasons why Hordak wanted her alive and captive. Neither had to do with Bridden's need for an assistant; both revealed the extent of Hordak's capacity for evil. Hordak had disclosed the first reason on that day, so long ago, when he abducted the Eternian queen and princess. He planned to one day return to Eternia and conquer it, and he wanted King Randor to see both his wife and daughter as prisoners of the Horde. As the years passed, and Hordak's rage at being defeated grew, he concocted a different, more insidious plot- one that he had gleefully revealed to Marlena after Adora had been informed of her promotion to the rank of Force Captain. Once he had conquered Eternia, he would show Randor that his beloved wife was alive and well; then he would force the deposed king to watch as Marlena was executed. That, Hordak knew, would destroy Randor.
Hordak also wanted Marlena alive and under his control so that he could maintain his power over Adora. He did not know how long Shadow Weaver's spell of compulsion would last, or what might break it, but he did know that Adora had always been avidly curious about her family and origins, particularly in regards to her mother. If the spell over Adora was broken, Shadow Weaver could always cast another one; but then Hordak would always wonder when that spell might dissolve. It would be so much easier to reveal Marlena as Adora's mother, and then hold her life as ransom for Adora's loyalty. Marlena had vowed long ago that this plan would never come to fruition; she would die first.
A whimpering sound caused her to open her eyes and turn. A little girl, no older than five, stood just behind her, peering up with wet eyes. Her name was Zolana, and she was the only member of her family to survive the raid on their village. The child with the black curls had suffered a broken arm, and Bridden had ordered that she remain in the infirmary until the limb healed. It was Marlena who plastered her arm, administered pain medication, and held the child while she screamed for her dead parents. The little girl had been sequestered in the infirmary for a month, and in that time had become Marlena's second shadow. Now, once Marlena noticed her, she shuffled closer, resting her head against the queen's leg. The woman hastily dried her hands on her tunic, then knelt down and gently embraced the child.
"Did you have a bad dream?" she asked softly. Zolana nodded and buried her face in Marlena's shoulder. Marlena held the girl for a minute before picking her up and carrying her back to her cot. She tried to lower her to the mattress, but the child whimpered again and clung tightly to her neck. Marlena settled onto the cot and rubbed Zolana's back; then she began to hum. Soon she felt the child's rigid body begin to relax, and as she started on the third melody, the sound of steady breathing reached her ears. Marlena knew that she should get up and return to her cell, but fatigue pressed down on her like a lead blanket. Instead, she carefully pushed herself until her back was against the wall, then pulled Zolana closer to her and closed her eyes. All around her, prisoners both awake and asleep whimpered in fear. A woman gone mad chattered loudly to her dead children, and a man shrieked curses at the entire Horde race; but Zolana's weight provided welcome warmth, and soon Marlena was running into the dream-arms of her husband.
King Randor stared out at the night sky, trying to fit his mood to the serenity of the evening. He failed, and soon began softly beating his frustration into the balcony railing. Below him, torchlights sparkled in the garden where he and Marlena had spent most of their courtship. The light of the two moons turned the surface of the fountain into a mirror; the scent of a dozen different species of flower drifted up to him. The odor of the ronsa flower was the strongest. Marlena had once told him that the ronsa closely resembled an Earth flower known as the daisy. Daisies had been her favorite flowers on Earth, and when Randor wed her, she wore a wreath of ronsas in her hair.
Randor sighed. Any pleasure the memory of his wedding might have brought was overshadowed by his worry for his son. Adam had left sometime before dawn, traveling to Castle Grayskull at the Sorceress's behest. This was all Duncan could tell him. He did not even know how long Adam would be gone, or what exactly the Sorceress's request entailed. Randor tried to convince himself that his son was safe- surely the Sorceress would not knowingly risk the life of Eternia's prince. Besides, Adam had spent a great deal of time at Castle Grayskull over the last two years, and always returned from his visits safe and sound. The worried father had repeatedly reminded himself of that throughout the day, but now, as the rest of the city prepared for slumber, Randor inwardly fumed that Adam had not thought to take Teela with him. He knew that the Captain of the Royal Guard, and Adam's personal bodyguard, was as irritated by Adam's carelessness as he was.
"How am I supposed to protect him if I don't even know where he is?" the outspoken redhead had railed after receiving the news of Adam's departure. "By the Ancients! I don't know what he's thinking when he pulls stunts like this!"
Randor knew exactly how she felt. The truth was that he did not know his son at all anymore. It seemed like all the boy ever did was eat, sleep, and avoid combat lessons. He frequently disappeared for hours at a time, returning with no plausible explanation for his absence. He was consistently late for events, and appeared to have no interest in preparing himself for his future as king. His lackadaisical attitude was the antithesis of the values Randor had tried to instill in him: courage, maturity, and a strong sense of duty and responsibility to his people. In short, Adam's ever-present apathy was not at all befitting of Eternia's future king.
This worried Randor- but what worried him more was that his son's behavior was a fairly recent development. For most of his life, Adam had been active, studious, and responsible. Granted, he had never exactly relished combat training, but neither had he gone to any great lengths to avoid it. Now, Teela reported spending most of Adam's allotted training time trying to find him. He ran from battles; not surprising, since he was really not adequately prepared to fight in them, and apparently did not care to learn. Randor could not pinpoint the exact moment of his son's transformation, but remembered noticing changes in Adam soon after his sixteenth birthday.
Unfortunately, it was also at this time that Skeletor returned with a small army, more determined than ever to overthrow his brother and rule Eternia. He had been launching almost weekly attacks against both the Royal Palace and Castle Grayskull, and might have already succeeded in his plans if the champion known only as He-Man had not come to the rescue every time. Other warriors joined the fight against Skeletor, each adding his own special method of combat to the perpetual battle; grateful Eternians referred to them as the Masters of the Universe, and it was a title they had more than earned.
He-Man and the Masters were very good at fighting, but it was up to Randor to deal with the aftereffects of Skeletor's attacks. Repairs always had to be made, sometimes to entire villages, and those in need of funds always looked to Eternos first, while the citizens of Eternia's capital railed at the possibility of having their taxes increased. Randor was left trying to find a way to provide aid without invoking the ire of his entire kingdom. The king was also busy attempting to forge treaties, usually with monarchs who saw no reason to ally themselves with a city Skeletor was so bent on destroying. Even after the villain's minions attacked kingdoms far removed from Eternos, the majority of the planet's rulers were still reluctant to join forces with Randor, arrogant in their belief that Skeletor would never attack them; yet when they were finally attacked, they immediately demanded aid, starting the vicious cycle all over again!
Randor was so busy trying to ensure his kingdom's survival that it took him awhile to really notice the changes in his son. When he finally did, he at first attributed the aberration to a temporary sense of panic that clearly stemmed from Adam's recent confirmation as heir to the throne. He remembered his own terror following Miro's announcement, even though he had known for years that he would be the next king, and told himself that Adam was feeling the same thing. He spoke with his son that very night about the matter, and although Adam did not say much, he did admit that he was certainly feeling the weight of his responsibilities- at which point Randor launched into a reassuring speech detailing how confident he was in Adam's ability to rule, how he would not have confirmed Adam if he had not been certain that he was ready for the responsibility, and how proud he was of his son. Adam was smiling by the end of the speech, and Randor left his son's room confident that the issue had been resolved.
It soon became glaringly obvious that nothing had been resolved, and as Adam's irresponsible behavior increased, Randor's speeches became a little less reassuring, a little more demanding. Adam always nodded and gravely promised to improve his conduct; but his apathy continued, and Randor eventually concluded that it had nothing to do with fear of being king. In fact, he decided, perhaps Adam was so assured of his future that he felt no need to work any harder for it. Well, that attitude was inexcusable, and Randor made sure that Adam knew it.
"You think sitting on a throne and wearing a crown makes someone a king, but it doesn't!" He lectured after each and every one of Adam's transgressions. "A king- a good king- works hard for his people. Lazy people do not make good kings, and neither will you if you don't start showing some responsibility!"
Nothing Randor said seemed to make any difference; if anything, Adam's behavior increased. The breaking point had come the previous month, when the father decided to try a slightly different approach in dealing with his son.
"One day- perhaps one day very soon- you are going to have a family of your own. Don't you want to be able to protect them from harm?"
"Like you, Father?"
At first, Randor thought he had imagined the angry inflection with which Adam said the words; then he saw the bitter gleam in his son's eyes, and felt his face flush with fury.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I think you know exactly what it means."
"Why don't you explain it to me?" Randor said, his voice soft and dangerous. "That is, if you dare!"
"Perhaps you should ask my mother. Oh, wait," Adam let out a mock gasp of realization, "she's not here, is she?"
He turned to walk out of the room, but Randor stepped in front of him, blocking the path to the door. Father and son stared at each other for a long moment; Adam crossed his arms defensively over his chest while Randor struggled not to hit his child. When he finally spoke, his words were low, and his voice trembled with fury.
"I was fighting to save this kingdom when your mother was killed, not off sleeping by the river- and I'll be damned if I'll allow you to use her death as some sort of verbal ammunition!"
The change in Adam's demeanor was instant; he bowed his head, and his arms dropped limply to his sides. "I'm sorry," he muttered to his shoes, "I had no right to say that. It's just that… I…"
"If you think you can excuse away what you said, you had better think again," Randor interrupted, "There is no excuse for your words. In fact, I don't think I've ever been more disappointed in you than I am right now."
Adam's head snapped up; his eyes widened as if Randor had just dealt him an actual, physical blow. Then his cheeks reddened, and he yelled,
"I SAID I WAS SORRY!"
He then turned on his heel and raced out of the room. Randor had not tried to stop him. He had stared at the retreating figure of his son instead, wondering how things could have gone so horribly wrong. He understood now that he should have simply accepted Adam's apology, perhaps even allowed him to finish his next sentence. At the time, however, he had just been so angry with Adam that he had not been willing to hear what the young man had to say.
The two had barely spoken since the altercation. Randor had started to approach Adam on several occasions, but never did; the man who had braved alien armies, and survived the death of his wife and abduction of his daughter, was terrified of what might happen if he tried to speak with his son. Would he only push Adam further away? How had they even come to this point? Might things have been different, if Skeletor had not come back to Eternia? If Marlena and Adora had never been taken?
Randor sank to his knees, suddenly exhausted. His fingers stretched over the railing; he rested his forehead against the cool stone and breathed deeply as hot tears traveled down his face. Adam was right: if Randor had been in the nursery that day, he could have saved Marlena; he could have saved them both. The fact that he had been defending his world from the monsters did not make his wife and daughter any less gone, did not make the nights any less lonely. His mother… Miro and Keldor… Marlena and Adora… everyone he had ever loved had left him, and now Adam was gone, too.
"I'm sorry," he gasped out the words he had never been able to say to his son, "Please come back. Please don't leave me."
He repeated the words over and over again, and as a cool breeze brought the scent of Marlena's favorite flower up to him, Randor began to wonder if he was speaking only to his child.
Force Captain Adora was supposed to be on vacation, not facing off against some muscle-bound, half-clad stranger. Yet here she was, suffering through the man's endless quips, and trying to figure out the best way to defeat him.
And she would defeat him, despite what he might say to the contrary. Right now he was going on about how he was the best warrior in the universe. Maybe in your universe, she thought, and tightened her grip on her sword.
The man lunged suddenly, and his blade met hers. Next came the warriors' dance, the steps to which Adora knew so well: parry, parry… thrust, thrust. They moved to the rhythm of steel hitting steel. The man almost managed to knock Adora's sword from her hand, and grinned smugly. Adora bared her teeth at him. She could almost see the next jibe playing on his lips. "Oh, no, you don't," she muttered, and swung her blade against his with excessive force. As expected, the blade flew from his hands. His mouth fell open in surprise. Adora laughed; the sound died on her lips when the man pulled a second sword from his sheath. He leveled the sword at her chest, opened his mouth… and closed it again as the sword began to glow. He stared at the blade in apparent astonishment, and then looked closely at Adora, as if seeing her for the first time.
"It can't be." He muttered under his breath. "It just cannot be."
So engrossed was the mysterious warrior that he failed to see the Horde trooper twenty feet behind him, aiming a stun gun at his back. The shot came a second later, and the man slumped to the ground in a faint, one arm falling across Adora's boot-clad feet. The sword, still glowing, dropped to the ground; Adora stepped lithely across the fallen warrior and carefully lifted the weapon from the grass. Several troopers stomped over and lifted the man up, while Adora stood back and stared at the sword. A clear jewel sparkled brightly up at her. Her fingers curled around the hilt as naturally and certainly as if the rapier had been made just for her. The sword glowed more brightly than before, yet Adora was not afraid. In fact, it was as if the glow was thawing a part of the woman that she had not even known was frozen. She was only vaguely aware of the sound of prisoners being loaded into Horde transport, the clank of flesh being secured to metal. The captives, all rebels who had started an uprising in the Horde-occupied village of Thaymore, would be taken to Beast Island, where they would be given the opportunity to repent for their actions.
"Like recalcitrant children, brought before their father," Adora murmured part of the sacred Horde oath, "So will the insurgents be brought before Hordak, and they will be punished; for through punishment comes understanding, and repentance, and ultimately, obedience everlasting."
She shivered, and looked down to find that the sword had stopped glowing. The last rebel was loaded into the Horde convey, and the metal doors slammed shut. The troopers looked to Adora expectantly, awaiting her command. She squared her shoulders and strode confidently toward them, telling herself that this latest battle was no differentfrom any other. Yet as she furtively ran her thumb across the tear-colored jewel of her new weapon, Adora could not shake the feeling that her life had just been suddenly, and irrevocably, changed.