A Grant of Arms

by Morgan Rice

  Erec watched, mouth open in disbelief.

  “When your father wakes and finds us gone, he will surely blame you,” Erec said.

  Matus shrugged.

  “I want you all to live. I remember you fondly,” he said to Kendrick, “from our days as youths. I would like to see the Empire ousted, and the MacGils reunited once again, as they once were. I would like to see the Upper Isles retake their place within the Ring. I do not share my father’s desire for the throne. Politics disgust me.”

  Erec nodded back with great respect.

  “You are a warrior beyond your years,” Erec said. “You have done yourself a great honor on this night.”

  “We will never forget this,” Kendrick said.

  “No debt is necessary,” Matus said. “Just take your men and go far from here. Go to the Upper Isles. Our castle sits empty now. You will be safe there from Andronicus’ reach.”

  Kendrick was touched by his offer, but he shook his head slowly.

  “You are of a true and noble blood,” Kendrick said. “I do remember you, very well. You were different than the others, different than your father. The blood of my father runs in you. We cannot accept your offer, however.”

  “Why not?” Matus asked.

  “Your isles may mean safety for us,” Erec explained, “but that is not what we were born to do. We were born to fight, not to hide, and fight we shall.”

  “But you cannot win,” Matus said.

  “Perhaps not here,” Kendrick said, “and perhaps not on this night. True, we stand outnumbered. But we will regroup, in some other place, on some other day, and fight then. Come, join our ranks.”

  Matus hesitated.

  “Join us,” Bronson added. “There can be no safe harbor for you here anymore.”

  Matus shook his head.

  “I have done what I’ve done,” he said. “I have no regrets. I will face my father, and whatever punishment he decides, I will accept. That is my way. I do not run from anything, either. Now go.”

  Erec, greatly impressed by this young warrior, stepped forward, looked him earnestly in the eye, and clasped forearms.

  Kendrick, Bronson, and Srog did the same.

  “I hope to see you one day again, my cousin,” Kendrick said.

  Quickly, Erec, Kendrick, Bronson, and Srog turned and fled through the night, grabbing the weapons of the felled soldiers, racing across the blackness, and towards their men. Erec was elated, his prayers answered. They would free their men, take their army, and live to fight another day.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Andronicus galloped across the plains, his son Thornicus at his side, his sorcerer Rafi on his other side, and McCloud behind him. Behind them followed tens of thousands of loyal Empire soldiers, all of them riding with enthusiasm for one destination: Highlandia, the highest city, built on the very peak of the Highlands. Andronicus could see it before him, sitting there on the horizon, shining in the early morning sun, the highest city in the Ring, striding the two sides of the Highlands, and the last stronghold of the McClouds. McCloud soldiers poured out of it, daring to face him. He could not wait to crush it.

  Andronicus had expected the McClouds to all surrender when McCloud had; they would have, too, if it were not for that rabble-rouser, Bronson. He had swept through the McCloud side of the Ring and agitated his people, and now thousands of them were rallying once again against the Empire invasion. Andronicus had received numerous reports of their killing his men, and now he was determined to take Highlandia and crush the McCloud resistance once and for all.

  Taking Highlandia also served another purpose for him: once he had the high ground, he would have a strategic point at the top of the Highlands; from there it would be a straight shot down the other side, right across to the Western Kingdom of the Ring and back again to Silesia, where he could wipe out anyone left of the MacGils and crush the Ring for good. He smiled at the thought. He would take great delight in doing it—even more so, this time, with his own, Thornicus, leading the charge and slaughtering his own people. There was nothing Andronicus loved more than watching people murder their own. Which was why he was having McCloud lead this charge.

  As much as Andronicus disliked him, he had to have Rafi ride upfront with them, too; he needed Rafi’s dark energy close, needed Rafi to keep up his spells and to keep Thor under his mind control. He had also promised Rafi a reward: after the battle, Rafi would be allowed to gorge on the dead. Rafi loved to drink corpses’ blood, and as much as it sickened Andronicus, he had to let Rafi have his way from time to time.

  The group let out a great battle cry as they neared their target. They all galloped straight up the hill, rising into the sky as the McCloud army charged down to meet them. As Andronicus watched, he was surprised to see his son, Thornicus, charge out in front, farther than all the others, leading the pack. He rode and rode, faster, fearless, the first in battle by a good hundred yards. It looked as if Thornicus was going to challenge the entire McCloud army by himself. Thornicus was a thing of beauty to watch, all warrior, one hundred percent heart. He looked mythical, like a god on a horse, as if nothing in the world could stop him.

  From out of Highlandia there came a great cry, as thousands of McCloud soldiers poured out, racing on their horses downhill, coming to meet the Empire army. They must have known they were outnumbered, yet still, these McClouds could do a lot of damage; given their strategic position, they could take out thousands of Empire men. They were probably gambling that Andronicus would not want to risk the loss of life.

  But they did not know the Great Andronicus. He cared not for loss of life. In fact, he loved bloodshed and did not care how many of his men died. They were all just pawns to him anyway.

  Thor was the first to meet the men in battle. Andronicus’ heart warmed to witness this first true test of his son’s fealty, to see if he would truly shed blood of his behalf. Thor cut through the McCloud army all alone, slicing and slashing every which way, creating a path of devastation that no one could touch. He was a one-man wave of destruction. McCloud was close behind, meeting his old army with a clash of arms, killing men left and right, equally gratifying to watch. He was Andronicus’ plaything now, to do whatever Andronicus commanded, and there he was, killing his own people, people he’d once ruled, all for the name of the Empire. All for the name of the Great Andronicus.

  Andronicus’ army caught up, and the clash of arms rose to the heavens, greater and greater, the riding coming to a standstill and his men fighting hand-to-hand. It was a vicious battle, bodies falling in both directions; the McClouds had downhill momentum, and they used it wisely, taking out many of Andronicus’s men, who were just too slow charging uphill.

  Andronicus himself jumped into the fray, twice as tall as any man, swinging his sword left and right. He did not flinch. He chopped off heads with single strokes, watching as they rolled to the ground, and wondering which to choose for his necklace. He pulled back his sword as a soldier approached, stabbed him in the gut and raised him high overhead, as if he were a piece of meat on a skewer. He then pulled back the sword and stabbed another soldier in the gut, then hurled the two bodies into the crowd.

  Rafi, not far from him, leapt from his horse and sank his yellow fangs into a soldier’s throat, pinning him to the ground; he lay on top of him, sucking his blood. Other soldiers tried to attack him, but Rafi cast a spell, and there was a green light around him, and no one was able to come anywhere close.

  The battle came to a standstill, thick with men, as the tide pushed back and forth. For a moment Andronicus was not sure which way it would sway—when suddenly, he saw Thor circle around and attack the McClouds from the rear, all by himself. He was such a force of destruction, so fast and strong and quick, that the entire rear flank of the army had to turn to fight him.

  That freed up Andronicus’ men to charge forward with a great cry. They slaughtered men left and right, finally breaking the back of the battle. They soon gained the momentum they needed and finished
their charge for Highlandia.

  Those that remained of McCloud’s men turned and fled, running for their lives. Thor stood in the middle, victorious, killing them every which way.

  Andronicus rode to his son, meeting him in the middle of the battlefield, and he raised his sword proudly, facing him.

  “Thornicus!” Andronicus yelled out.

  “THORNICUS!” shouted his men behind him.

  *

  Andronicus paraded slowly through the vanquished streets of Highlandia, reveling in his victory. Thornicus rode at his side, surveying the damage with him. Andronicus watched with satisfaction as McCloud murdered the wounded, going from one to the next, as Andronicus had ordered him to do. The sound of steel piercing flesh cut through the air, as McCloud raised his lance high and leaned down on his horse and stabbed one wounded after the next, all his former people.

  Andronicus smiled, taking it all in. There was nothing he loved more than a field of carnage. McCloud was totally in his power now, and he just loved watching someone torture his own people.

  The ground was littered with corpses as far as the eye could see, and Rafi, flanked by his two henchmen, jumped from one to the next, as quick as light, kneeling and sinking his fangs into their throats, drinking until their blood dried out. He lay hunched over one now, his body quivering with delight as he gorged and gorged. He would be full tonight.

  Finally, the tide had turned in Andronicus’ favor. Nothing could stop him now.

  Thor followed as they rode, father and son together, dozens of generals behind them. They rode to the very highest point of the city, at the edge of the mountains, and as they reached it, they stopped and looked down. Spread out below them, as far as the eye could see, sat the Western Kingdom of the Ring. Cutting through it was a wide road, disappearing into the horizon, the main road to Silesia. Andronicus could not wait to lead his army down that road. He was particularly excited to watch Thornicus kill his own people; nothing would give him greater joy.

  But it had been a long day of battle, and with the sun setting, Andronicus decided it would be best to camp here for the night, and march in the morning.

  “I have been looking for you everywhere,” came a woman’s voice.

  Andronicus spun to see that annoying McCloud girl appear before him, Luanda.

  He turned and frowned at her.

  “Have you?” he asked.

  “We will be entering the Western Kingdom soon. My territory. You promised, in return for me bringing you Thor, that it would be mine. Now that the battle has settled, I have come to make sure you make all the proper arrangements to secure me King’s Court and make me queen.”

  Andronicus stared back, in shock at her audacity. Then, finally, he threw his head back and roared with laughter. He could not stop laughing, especially as her haughty expression changed to one of bafflement, then to embarrassment.

  Luanda frowned.

  “And what is so funny?” she asked. “Remember, you are addressing the daughter of a King, soon to be Queen.”

  Andronicus dismounted from his horse, and walked slowly towards her, the air thick with tension. He came up beside her, grabbed her by the shirt with one hand, and with one motion threw her from her horse.

  Luanda screamed as she fell through the air, rolling to the ground covered in dust and dirt.

  Andronicus reached down, grabbed her by her hair and tore a big clump from her head.

  Luanda shrieked, and Andronicus raised the clump of hair high overhead, smiling.

  “You’re lucky your head is too small,” he said, “or I would add it to my necklace.”

  Andronicus turned to his men.

  “Bind her, shave off the rest of her hair, and parade her through the camp for the entertainment of the men.”

  Luanda screamed, shaking.

  “NO! You can’t do this! You promised! You promised!”

  They dragged her away, kicking and screaming, and Andronicus watched in delight.

  No sooner had she left his view then there appeared before him that traitorous MacGil, Tirus. He approached Andronicus, his four sons beside him and dozens of soldiers in tow.

  Tirus, at least, had the good sense to dismount, take a knee, and bow down to the ground before addressing the Great Andronicus, as did his sons.

  “And what news do you bring me?” Andronicus asked. “Are Kendrick, Erec, Bronson, and Srog all detained? Have you executed them yet?”

  Tirus cleared his throat as he looked up, flustered.

  “My Lord, I have delivered them all to you as promised, and your men have won the battle. But I am afraid I bear bad news.”

  “News?” Andronicus asked. He did not like the sound of this.

  “Well…” Tirus began, “somehow…um…well…. They were our prisoners, but somehow…they escaped in the night. I’m sorry. I don’t know how it happened.”

  Andronicus grimaced; he could feel a mounting fury rise up within him.

  “Don’t know how it happened?” he asked, incredulous.

  “My liege,” said the Empire commander, who came and knelt before him. “My men reported that they witnessed the MacGil leaders being freed in the night—by one of Tirus’ sons.”

  Andronicus turned his gaze down to Tirus’ four sons, kneeling there, all ashen with fear.

  “It is not true, my lord!” Tirus yelled out. “My boys would never do such a thing!”

  Andronicus, ignoring Tirus, stepped forward and examined each one. He saw something special in the piercing hazel eyes of the youngest; he detected the spirit of a warrior in him.

  “You have taken something precious from me,” Andronicus said to Tirus. “So I will take something precious from you. One of your sons will do.”

  Tirus looked up in shock and fear.

  “My liege?” he muttered.

  “Choose which one of your sons will die today,” Andronicus ordered Tirus.

  There came the ring of metal as Tirus drew his sword and began to charge for Andronicus, to defend his boys.

  But Andronicus was much faster; he lunged forward, grabbed Tirus by the throat, and held him high overhead with a single hand. Tirus was not a small man, and yet Andronicus handled him like a rag doll.

  Tirus dangled there, red-faced, gasping, as Andronicus held him up, dangling for all to see.

  “If one of us is to die, then kill me my Lord!” cried out one of Tirus’ sons.

  Andronicus turned to see one of his sons, the one with the hazel eyes and curly hair, stepping forward and standing there proudly.

  Andronicus dropped Tirus to the ground, and Tirus, gagging and coughing, curled up in a ball, clutching his throat.

  “No, kill me, my Lord!” said another son.

  “Take my life!” said the other.

  The three brothers all stood forward, each asking to be killed over the other. Andronicus smiled as he debated which one he wanted to kill.

  “You offered first,” Andronicus said, as he approached the boy with the eyes.

  Andronicus suddenly drew his sword, took a step forward and in a single motion, chopped off the head of Tirus’ other son, the one standing next to the one with the eyes.

  The other sons shrieked in dismay and Andronicus smiled.

  “But you should know that I never kill the man who offers first.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Romulus charged down the dusty road as the sun rose, a dozen of his soldiers following, making his way across the desert, riding for the Canyon. He clutched his cloak as they rode, anxious to put it to the test.

  The sacrifice of the night before had been a successful one, and Romulus felt satisfied that he’d appeased the God of War. He would cross the Canyon, that much he knew. His heart thumped with excitement as he imagined Andronicus’ expression when he would see Romulus, inside the Ring, putting a sword through his spine.

  The Eastern Crossing finally came into view, a bridge spanning a vast canyon, a great divide in the earth, greater than anything Romulus had ever
seen. Swirling mist rose up all around it, lit up different colors by the early morning sun.

  Romulus and his men dismounted as they reached the edge, and he walked to the precipice and stared down, hands on his hips, breathing hard from the ride. He knew that only he could cross with the cloak, but just in case somehow the Shield was down, he wanted these men to accompany him. The main body of his army he had left back at the shore. His plan was to enter the Ring, to find a MacGil, to get him back across the Canyon, to lower the Shield, and then to have his entire army invade.

  In the meantime, he had these few men with him as a test, to see if by some chance the Shield was down. He knew it would risk their lives to try, but he cared not for the value of life. He would gladly sacrifice any of his men to fulfill his experiment.

  “You,” Romulus said, pointing to one of his men.

  The soldier’s eyes opened wide in fear as he realized. Still, he was quick to obey. He dismounted from his horse and walked alongside Romulus, and the two of them walked out in front of all the others, approaching the entrance to the Canyon bridge.

  As they reached the threshold, Romulus stopped.

  The soldier stopped, turned and looked at Romulus with a look of fear. He swallowed hard, then closed his eyes and braced himself, raising his arms to protect his face as he walked toward the bridge.

  Suddenly, the soldier let out a horrific scream as his body melted, then turned to ashes, dropping in a pile at Romulus’ feet.

  The other men all gasped.

  So, the Shield was still up.

  Romulus draped the cloak about his shoulders and clutched it tight. He prayed that it worked. If it did not, he would end up like that pile at his feet.

  Romulus breathed deep and took one big step onto the Canyon bridge. He braced himself, flinching.

  His foot set down on the bridge, and Romulus was shocked: it worked. He had made it. He was standing safely on the bridge, wearing the cloak.