A Grant of Arms

by Morgan Rice

  He continued to walk, farther and farther from his men, crossing ever deeper onto the bridge, alone. Soon, he would be inside the Ring.

  *

  Romulus rode on an Empire horse he’d found roaming the McCloud countryside, realizing it must have belonged to a slain Empire soldier left somewhere along the way. He been quick to find the horse once safely across the bridge and on the McCloud side of the Ring, and he’d ridden hard ever since, charging ever west, toward where Andronicus’ main camp must be.

  Romulus’ first order of business was to ambush and kill his former boss, Andronicus—and for that he needed men.

  He was not worried. The Empire’s vast army feared and respected him as they did Andronicus—perhaps even more. Romulus was known to be an equally ruthless commander. He was also known to have the voice of Andronicus: anything Romulus commanded, the Empire men would assume came from the high commander himself.

  Romulus was betting on his ability to convince the Empire men he encountered to follow him and join his cause. He would trick them, tell them that he had orders—from the Grand Council itself—to oust Andronicus. He would form a small army of his own, right here, inside the Ring, and would turn Andronicus’ own men against him.

  Romulus rode and rode, seeing the destruction all around him and realizing how many battles must have been fought up and down this land. It felt strange to actually be here, inside the Ring, this place he had heard of his entire life. He was so close, finally, to taking what was his, the rulership of the Empire forces. He felt as if he were riding into destiny.

  Romulus crested the top of a ridge and looked down and saw below, a division of Empire, several thousand men milling about. This division was too small to be Andronicus’ main camp; it must have been a vanguard, left to guard the rear. Andronicus saw the Empire banners waving, and his heart quickened as he recognized their commander.

  Romulus kicked his horse and galloped across the countryside, riding down the gentle slope, not even slowing as he rode past the astonished looks of all the Empire soldiers, who stopped what they were doing, stiffened to attention, and saluted him up and down the ranks.

  They parted ways, and Romulus charged right for the commander. He knew he would have to project his best authority to convince them to join his cause and kill Andronicus.

  As Romulus came to a stop, the commander wheeled, startled, fear in his eyes, and jumped down from his horse, along with all his men around, and took a knee before Romulus.

  “Sir, I had no idea you were coming,” he said. “I would have arranged a parade in your honor.”

  Romulus dismounted, scowling, and strutted over to him. Romulus’ reputation was well-known for killing commanders randomly, with no rhyme or reason, and this general trembled at the sight of him.

  Romulus stopped but a foot away and boomed: “I’ve been sent by the Grand Council. A decree has been set. Andronicus is to be killed and I have been named the new Supreme Commander of the Empire forces.”

  The general stared back, his mouth dropped open in shock. Romulus would not give him time to process it.

  “Mobilize your men at once, and ride with me,” Romulus added. “We ride to fight Andronicus’ forces and to oust him together.”

  “But sir…” the general said, stumbling, clearly unsure what to do. “We never received any such orders. We cannot kill Andronicus…he is our commander!”

  Romulus knew he had to take definitive action. He stepped forward, grabbed the general with both hands and yanked him in, pulling his chin so close to his that they were almost kissing. He scowled down, his face trembling with rage.

  “I will say this once,” Romulus growled. “I am Supreme Commander now. Address me any other way, and I will have you killed, and install a new general in your place. Do you understand?”

  The general gulped.

  “Yes, Supreme Commander.”

  Romulus threw him down to the ground, then turned and scanned the soldiers’ faces; they all immediately looked away, everyone afraid to meet his gaze.

  “FOLLOW ME!” Romulus screamed, as he mounted his horse and kicked it, charging down the road.

  Within moments, he heard behind him the sound of a thousand horses, rushing to do his will. A great battle cry rose up, and Romulus smiled wide.

  He had his army.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Gwendolyn stood atop the ridge of ice, staring down in wonder and disbelief at the fantasy land spread out beneath her. The world before her was a frozen wonderland, sparkling with every color, soft shades of purples and violets and pinks, a million points reflecting off the small mounds of ice. It looked like the world a day after a snowstorm, frozen in silence and peace, everything shiny and perfectly still. It was vast and overwhelming, stretching as far as the eye could see, a desert of light and ice.

  She sensed that Argon was down there somewhere, trapped, and she felt more of a burning desire to free him than ever.

  Krohn whined beside her, and Gwen looked over and saw Alistair, Steffen, and Aberthol, the five of them all shivering, frozen to the bone, weary from the journey. One lost all sense of time in this place, and Gwen felt as if they had been trekking in the Netherworld for years. While Gwen had hoped to see some sign of Argon when they crested the ridge, instead, there appeared yet another vast landscape before them. She had hoped their trek would end here; but now it seemed as if was just beginning.

  “It is endless,” Steffen observed, standing beside her, looking out.

  “The Ice Mounds,” Aberthol said, eyes wide in awe. “I never thought to lay eyes upon it in my lifetime.”

  “You know of this place?” Gwen asked, surprised.

  Aberthol nodded.

  “A place of profound magic. A place frozen in time. A place even the gods will not venture. It is a place to trap men’s souls. A place that defies magic.”

  “But what is it, exactly?” Alistair asked, also looking out in wonder. “It is not a desert, nor is it a city. It seems like…nothingness.”

  “At least the snow and the wind have stopped,” Steffen observed. “At least we can see clearly before us.”

  “It is not what it seems,” Aberthol said. “It is a world of illusion.”

  “Is Argon here?” Gwendolyn asked him.

  Aberthol slowly shook his head.

  “There is no way of knowing.”

  “There is one way,” Gwen replied. “We find out for ourselves.”

  Aberthol shook his head.

  “Look beneath you. The decline is too steep. It is solid ice. We could never hike down that. And if we did, this place is too dangerous. We would never return. It was folly to come here, but we should cut our losses. We must turn back now.”

  “But there must be a way—” Gwendolyn began.

  Before she could finish her words, there came a cracking noise, and the ground beneath her suddenly gave way.

  All of them screamed as they fell on their backs and slid straight down the icy slope. Gwendolyn could barely breathe they were moving so fast, the world whizzing by her as they went sliding, the ice scraping her arms. With nothing to slow their descent, they slid hundreds of feet, gaining speed. Gwen flailed, reaching out to grab something, anything, to slow or stop the fall—but there was nothing. Beside her, Krohn stuck out all four paws, trying to stop himself, but he could not. He slid headfirst, with the rest of them, all of them flailing, helpless. She felt they were sliding downward to their deaths.

  Gwen braced herself as they approached the bottom, heading for a wall of white. She raised her hands to her face, expecting to hit a wall of ice and be crushed by the impact.

  Gwen screamed and gasped as she hit the wall; but to her immense relief, she did not feel pain. She only felt a soft, wet cold, immersing her entire body. Gwen realized they had slid into a mound not of ice but of snow, and had come out the other side. She was dazed, and freezing, her entire body covered in snow—but unhurt.

  Gwendolyn sat there, shocked, at the bottom of
the valley, and looked over, and saw the others were, stunned, too.

  “Are you okay?” she asked Aberthol, who looked shaken.

  Aberthol blinked several times, checked his body, and nodded back. She saw that Steffen and Alistair were okay too, and even Krohn was walking. It had been scary, but they had made it. Their decision had been made for them.

  Slowly, each of them got to their knees, then to their feet. Gwendolyn turned and looked back up the slope, saw the steep ridge from which they had descended, and could hardly believe it. She could not possibly imagine climbing back up there.

  “Well, it seems we’re stuck,” Steffen said.

  “At least we found a way down,” Alistair said.

  Gwendolyn turned and looked at the landscape before her. Down here, the ice mounds seemed larger, more imposing. They were spread out, like a thousand camel humps dotting the landscape, each tinged with a different color. They sparkled, and were beautiful. This place was so exotic, and Gwen had no idea what to expect.

  “Now where?” Steffen asked.

  “There is no way but forward. We must take the path before us,” Gwendolyn said.

  “But there is no path,” Aberthol said.

  “Then we shall make our own,” Gwen replied.

  She set off, walking through the field of mounds, and the group followed. They all walked forward, between the mounds of ice, all of them on edge as they traversed the strange landscape.

  As they entered deeper and deeper into this place, Gwendolyn felt an increasing sense of foreboding, and wondered again if this had all been a bad idea. Was Argon even down here? And if he was, would they ever find him?

  The blinding wind and snow had stopped, and at least the sky was visible, and Gwendolyn was grateful for that. But she was covered in bruises and bumps, her entire body aching, and she felt cold to the bone, weary from marching. She did not know how much longer they could all last. Eventually, they would have to make camp, and try to light a fire in this godforsaken place. She did not know if it was possible, and she had visions of them all freezing to death, lost forever here in this valley of trapped souls.

  She needed to shake these dark thoughts from her mind; she needed to distract herself somehow.

  “Tell me a story,” she said, turning to Steffen as they walked, through chattering teeth. She was desperate for something, anything, to take her mind off the cold, off thoughts of danger. Sometimes, she realized, stories could be just as nourishing as food, or water, or heat.

  “A story, my lady?” Steffen asked, his teeth chattering, too.

  Gwen nodded, too cold to get out the words.

  “Anything,” she said.

  They continued walking in silence, their boots crunching on the ice, silent for so long that Gwen wondered if Steffen would ever reply.

  Then, finally, Steffen began:

  “When I was young,” he said, “I yearned to be a warrior. Just like the other boys. Of course, it was not meant to be, given my body. They made fun of me. I did not have the body they had, the height, the strength, the looks—any of it. I did not fit the profile of the warrior, and they would not allow me a spot for training. So, instead, my parents decided I would be the servant for the family.”

  Steffen sighed.

  “I served them all, and those years were hard. But they could not break my spirit. When a day was over, after I’d worked all day for everyone, after I’d served and cleaned up after them all, after everyone was asleep and there was nothing left to do, my parents could not control me then. I snuck outside, roamed the hills in the moonlight, and I fashioned a bow myself, out of the finest sticks I could find. The local carpenter, he was a good man; he was not mean to me like the others, and he taught me how to craft one. He was impressed by my work, and over time, he gave me better and better scraps from his shop, and I made better and better bows.

  “Before long, I was crafting the finest bows in town, bows that even the carpenter himself could not make. It turned out that I had a talent. He gave me arrows, and I taught myself. I would practice every night under the moonlight, until I became the finest shot in our village—and soon, even in our region.”

  Steffen sighed again.

  “Of course, my family knew nothing of this. I couldn’t tell them. They would make fun of me, or take it all away from me, because they never believed in me. But one day, my bow was discovered.”

  Steffen fell silent, frowning, looking down, and Gwen could see the story pained him. He continued in the silence, the ice crunching beneath their boots, and Gwen wondered if he would continue.

  Finally, he raised his chin and looked out at the ice with glassy eyes, as if looking directly into his past.

  “The bow was under my bed,” Steffen continued, “and somehow, one of my brothers had found it. He had held it up and asked everyone whose it was, and they all looked to me. They accused me of stealing it. My mother dragged me to the local castle to have me put in the stocks—until the carpenter heard, and explained that I’d made it. My family was incredulous. They never thought I could make anything.

  “My brothers took the bow from me, and they demanded that I prove it, to prove that I could use it. I was glad to oblige, but my brothers snatched it from me and insisted that they try first. They all fired clumsily at targets, missing. When they tired of it, they gave me a turn. With one shot, twice as far as they, I hit the target perfectly, the target they could not.

  “My father, instead of applauding, fell into a rage. He stepped forward, took the bow, and snapped it over his knee. I can still remember the sound of that snap. It was like the sound of my heart snapping. It broke my heart, and it broke my spirit.”

  Steffen sighed and turned to Gwen.

  “My spirit has been broken ever since, my lady. It was not until I met you, until you gave me a second chance at life, that I began to feel my spirit revived. It was not until I met you that I ever raised a bow again.”

  Gwendolyn felt a surge of emotion at his story, and it took her mind off the cold, off of her weariness, off of everything. She felt a burning sense of compassion for him, and also a sense of pride. She related to his story in some odd way—to his suffering, at least. She thought of her own suffering at the hands of McCloud, of how she persevered, of how the spirit could always persevere. She thought about how people could take things from you, how they could do their best to break you. But they could never break you if you didn’t let them. If you can just hang in there long enough, she realized, one day you will meet someone, even just one other person, who will see you for who you truly are, and who will restore your faith in mankind, and restore your spirit.

  “Thank you,” Gwendolyn said to him.

  They continued walking, trudging ever deeper into this strange world, weaving in and out of the mounds of ice, when suddenly, Gwen detected motion. She stopped as she saw a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye, something slithering on the ice.

  “Did you see that?” she asked the others.

  The others stopped beside her, and they all stared out at the landscape, peering between the mounds.

  “I did not see anything,” Alistair said.

  But suddenly Krohn started snarling, stepping forward, hairs on end, carefully, one foot at a time, and Gwen knew she was right, she had seen something. It was something long and white, and it had slithered between these mounds. For the first time down here, she looked around, and she felt afraid.

  “Maybe you were seeing things—” Aberthol added, but then stopped speaking as another creature appeared, slithering between the mounds, coming right for them. It was a huge, white snake with three heads, one at each end of its body and a third in the center. The snake, U-shaped, slithered in a strange way.

  Steffen drew his bow and Gwendolyn her dagger, as the snake came towards them. Krohn snarled, and began to charge.

  Just as quickly, the snake slithered away, disappearing from view, heading in a different direction.

  “What was it?” Gwen asked.<
br />
  “I have no idea,” Aberthol said.

  “Whatever it was,” Steffen added, “it did not look friendly.”

  Suddenly, there came another one. Then another.

  Several of them slithered towards them—but then they all turned away, at the last moment, scattering in every direction. The sound of their scales sliding along the ice gave Gwen the chills.

  “They’re not attacking us,” Alistair observed.

  “It looks like they’re scared of us,” Steffen said.

  “Or like they’re running from something,” Aberthol added.

  “From what?” Gwen asked.

  There came a sudden tremor, and Gwen stumbled, as the ground beneath her shook. At first, she was sure it was an earthquake.

  But suddenly, a huge mound of ice before her shattered, and out from it there sprang an enormous monster, fifty feet high and just as wide, entirely white, made, it appeared, of ice. He had a spine in the front of his body, and each vertebrae had a glowing red eye on it. It had eyes running up and down its arms, too, and at the end of each finger, it had razor-sharp teeth, ten mouths, opening and closing, snapping as the fingers came towards them.

  It took a step closer and the ground shook. Gwen stumbled as the monster lowered its teeth right for her, coming too fast. In a moment, she knew, she would be dead.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Reece draped one arm over Krog’s shoulder, O’Connor supporting the other, the two of them helping him walk as the group hiked deeper into the unknown wilds of this exotic world at the base of the Canyon. Sunlight streamed in faintly through the turquoise and orange leaves of the strange trees that grew down here; Reece craned his neck and looked straight up, and through the swirling mists he saw the immensity of the Canyon walls, rising up into the sky, impossibly high. This place seemed magical. Reece could hardly conceive that they had come this far, had descended this deep, and he wondered if they would ever be able to make it back up again.