A Grant of Arms

by Morgan Rice

  More importantly, as he surveyed their surroundings, he wondered if they would ever be able to find the Sword. There was no trail or marker, or anything to follow; the Sword could be anywhere. He marched through the mud-like material, a gooey substance sticking to his boots, this place filled with the sound of strange creatures. Reece had never imagined that there could be a whole world down here, plants and animal life, its own terrain, like a whole separate universe, sitting between the two sides of the Ring. He wondered what sort of creatures could live here, in the depths of the earth. He wondered if people could live down here, too.

  “So now what?” O’Connor asked aloud the question burning on all of their minds, searching the exotic landscape for any signs of the Sword.

  “We can’t just wander down here forever,” Serna said. “We have no idea where the Sword went.”

  “Think about it,” Reece said, “it can’t be far off. We scaled down the Canyon wall right at the base of the bridge—and the boulder plunged straight down beneath the bridge. As long as we stick closely to this area under the bridge crossing, we must run into it. All we have to do is traverse the Canyon from one side to the other.”

  “But I can’t even see the bridge from here, can you?” Elden asked.

  Reece looked up, as did the others, and through the swirling mists there was no longer any sign of the bridge.

  “You’re assuming that we climbed straight down,” Indra said to Reece. “We didn’t. We climbed down erratically, following footholds. We may not be under the bridge at all.”

  Reece felt a pit in his stomach as they continued, wondering if she was right. Perhaps his plan was a bad one, and they were farther from finding the Sword than he thought.

  As they continued marching, slogging through the mud, there came a sudden, fierce roar, making the hair stand up on Reece’s back. They all stopped in their tracks. They clutched the hilts of their swords, looking at each other, eyes open wide with fear.

  “What was that?” Serna called out.

  “Looks like we’re not alone,” Indra said, the first to draw her sword. The sound of metal rang through the air with a distinctive clang.

  The roar came again, shaking the ground with a great tremor. Reece’s apprehension deepened; it sounded enormous, and very upset.

  “Whatever it is,” Elden observed, “it sounds like our weapons are not going to do us much good.”

  The roar came a third time, and they all took a step back, in different directions; they could not tell from which direction it was coming. They turned every which way, forming a loose circle.

  As Reece watched the mist, there slowly emerged a huge, hideous beast. It was bright red, covered in thick scales, and stood on two feet, thirty feet tall, muscles bulging. Its long arms ended in snapping claws, like lobster claws, and its head was all mouth, one huge set of jaws, opening and closing, revealing rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth.

  It leaned back its head and roared, its narrow eyes squinting in fury, and a long tongue protruded several feet from its mouth, then retracted.

  Reece looked up in terror, and saw the others were panicked, too. He drew his sword, as did Elden, letting go of Krog, who stumbled, then sank to his knees. The others all drew their swords, too, while O’Connor drew his bow.

  “It does not seem happy,” Indra said wryly.

  The beast roared again, took several steps forward, and faster than Reece could imagine, swung down one arm, smacking Reece in the ribs and sending him airborne. He went flying through the air, crashing into a tree, taking out its branches, and tumbling end over end as he slammed down to the muddy ground. Reece rolled to his side, ribs hurting, head ringing, and turned and looked back.

  The monster was on a rampage, charging for the others with fury. O’Connor, to his credit, stood firm, managing to pull back his bow and fire several shots.

  But the arrows bounced harmlessly off the beast’s scales and fell to the ground. The beast then reached out with its powerful claws and snapped O’Connor’s bow in half. With its other claw, the beast aimed to slice O’Connor in two. O’Connor dodged out of the way—but not quickly enough. The beast sliced his arm, making him scream out in pain as blood went everywhere.

  Indra did not back down either: she reached back and threw a dagger at the beast’s head. Her aim was true, but the dagger merely bounced off the beast’s head, which seemed to be made of some sort of armor. It turned and shrieked and came right for her, its claws opened wide, as it went to bite off her hand.

  Elden rushed forward, raising his ax, and chopped the beast’s wrist with all his might. The blow was strong enough to sway the claw, but its scales were so tough, even Elden’s great axe blow could not sever it. Elden only exposed himself to the wrath of the beast. It spun and backhanded him, smashing him in his nose and breaking it as Elden screamed out and landed flat on his back.

  The beast, not satisfied, brought its other claw down, right for the exposed Elden.

  Conven let out a battle cry, charged forward with his sword, and plunged it into the beast’s stomach. But the sword barely scratched it, and the beast swung around, opened its jaw, and clamped down on the sword, snapping it in two like a matchstick.

  Reece shook off his blow, gained his feet, and sprinted for the beast, this time aiming for its exposed back. As it brought its claws down for Conven, about to sink them into his chest, Reece jumped onto the beast’s back, and sunk his sword right into its spine.

  Finally, Reece found a soft spot. The sword sunk in, up to the hilt, and the beast shrieked an awful sound. It reached back, grabbed Reece with its claw, picked him up high above his head, and threw him through the air.

  Reece went flying again, hurling end over end so fast he could hardly breathe and smashed face-first into the mud. He was winded and felt as if he’d cracked a rib.

  Reece turned around, and looked up, bleary-eyed, as the beast approached him. He watched, helpless, as it raised its foot high and prepared to stop him to death. He saw the razor-sharp claws on the sole of its foot, saw all of his friends knocked out, unable to move, and as he watched the claws coming down right for his face, he knew that in moments, his life would be over.

  His final thought was: what an awful place to die.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Thornicus sat on a small boat, drifting alone at sea, in unfamiliar territory. He looked all around, searching for anything familiar, but the landscape was utterly foreign. He felt that he was far from home, on the other side of the world, and that he would never go back. He had never felt so alone in his life.

  Thor leaned over the bow and looked down into the waters, and as he did, he saw a face staring back at him.

  But it was not his face; instead, it was the face of his father.

  Andronicus.

  “Thornicus,” came a voice.

  Thor leaned back and looked up into the sun, as it broke through behind the clouds. He squinted and saw before him a huge cliff and at its peak, a castle, the sun shining behind it. A stone footbridge arched high in the sky, leading to it, twisting and turning, narrow. Thor reached up for it, but felt as if it were a world away.

  “Thorgrin, come to me,” came the woman’s voice.

  Thor raised one hand to the sun and saw, standing at the edge of the cliff, a woman, around which glowed a violet light. She held her hands out, palms at her sides, and he could feel her summoning him. He knew it was his mother.

  “Mother,” he said, standing, reaching out a hand for her, trying to make it.

  “Thorgrin,” she answered. “You are my son, too. It is up to you to claim your lineage. You can choose your father—or you can choose me. You are both of us. Don’t forget. Neither one of us is stronger than the other. You have the power to choose. You don’t have to choose your father. You are not your father. And you are not me. Come home. Come to your true home. I await you.”

  Thor tried to stand, but he felt himself stuck; he looked down and saw his legs were shackled, bound to the bo
at.

  “Mother,” he called out, his throat dry, his voice raspy. “I can’t. I can’t break free. Help me.”

  “Try,” she said. “You have the strength. Do not be deceived: you have the strength.”

  Thor tried to break free with all his might. As he did, he heard a gradual splintering of wood. He felt rushing cold water on his feet, and he looked down to see a hole opening in the bottom of the boat.

  He suddenly fell through it, plunging down, screaming, into the dark and freezing sea, engulfed by water, sinking into the depths of the ocean.

  Thor woke breathing hard. He sat upright and looked about, sweating, trying to collect himself. He saw soldiers sleeping on the ground all around him, but he did not recognize them. It was all so confusing: they were Empire soldiers. What was he doing with them?

  A cold breeze came and Thor looked down and saw he was lying on the cold, hard ground, on pebbles and dirt, camped out with all the other soldiers. He still wore his armor, his boots, and as he sat up, he was beginning to realize it had been a dream. He was on dry land. And his mother was nowhere in sight.

  Thor rubbed his head, his mind muddled, trying to gain clarity. He looked over and saw, not far away, Rafi, sitting up in the night, staring back at him, his yellow eyes glowing beneath his hood. Rafi chanted a strange tune, and Thor felt it invading his thoughts, entering his brain, making all free thought impossible. The incessant humming drowned it out. As he heard it, all Thor could think of was his obligation to his father. His obligation for loyalty to the Empire.

  Thor jumped to his feet, his armor rankling, shaking his head, trying to understand. He looked out into the night and he saw the Ring. But this was not the Ring he knew. This was not his homeland. He was in a foreign part of the Ring. And as he looked out, he did not see this land anymore as home; instead, he saw it as a place to invade. A place that needed to be crushed.

  Thor looked about: in the still night air all around him, thousands of Empire soldiers lay fast asleep, the embers of bonfires glowing. He was starting to feel clear again. He was Andronicus’ son. He was heir to the Empire. And he owed his father a great debt.

  Thor spotted a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, the only motion in the black of night. He saw a lone soldier, slithering through the night, passing by rows of soldiers, and heading for the large tent just feet away.

  Andronicus’ tent.

  Thor watched as the figure sprinted, holding something at his side. He looked closer and saw that it was long and sharp, and glistened beneath the torchlight. And that was when Thor realized: the man held a dagger. This man, sprinting towards the tent, creeping silently through the night, was an assassin. And he was aiming to kill Thor’s father.

  Thor jumped into action, sprinting across the camp, racing to stop the assassin.

  The assassin sprinted up to the two soldiers standing guard and sliced both of their throats silently before either could say a word. They both slumped silently down, dead. He then rushed right through the flaps of Andronicus’ tent.

  Thor was just a few feet behind them, and he burst through the flaps on the assassin’s heels. As he entered, Thor saw the assassin a foot before his father, raising the dagger high for his back. Andronicus lay there in his bed, on his stomach, unsuspecting; he had no idea he was about to be killed.

  Thor burst into action: he reached to his waist, grabbed his sling, placed a stone, and hurled it with all his might.

  The stone lodged itself in the back of the assassin’s neck, embedding itself deeply. The assassin froze, his dagger high in the air, just inches away from Andronicus—then he slumped over and fell face-first to the ground beside him, his dagger falling harmlessly to his side.

  Dead.

  Andronicus jumped up, eyes wide with panic, and looked over and saw the assassin. He stared, realizing how close he had come to being killed.

  Andronicus turned slowly, and looked up at Thor. Slowly, he realized what Thor had just done. His expression of fear turned to something like awe. Appreciation. It was an expression Thor had never seen on him before.

  Andronicus rose and approached Thor slowly.

  “My son,” he said, reaching out and laying a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “You have saved my life on this night.”

  Thor looked back at his father, filled with pride. In the past, the feel of Andronicus’s touch had upset him; but now he welcomed it. It was his father’s touch. The father he’d always longed to have.

  “I did what any son would do,” Thor replied.

  Andronicus shook his head slowly, and looked down at Thor with admiration.

  “I have vastly underestimated you,” he said. “You are not only my greatest soldier. You are now also the son I never had. You are going to be by my side forever. Do you know that?”

  Thor looked back into Andronicus’ eyes, and he answered: “There is nothing I yearn for more, my father.”

  “Take a long look at me, Thornicus,” he said. “Do you see who I am? My face, my height, my skin, my horns. I was not always this way. I was once like you. Like your father. Like my brothers. A MacGil, like all the others. But I changed. I transformed. I made a vow, and I accepted the powers of the darkest sorcery, and a ceremony was performed. I allowed the evil spirit to enter me. I allowed it to transform me. I allowed it to change my race, my appearance, and to give me more power than I’d ever dreamed. It is a sacred ceremony. Only a chosen few are given the privilege to transform, to attain such power.”

  Andronicus looked intensely into his eyes.

  “You have proved yourself worthy here today. When these battles are over, you will transform, like me. You will be my height. My race. My skin. You will have horns, like mine. You will leave behind the pathetic human race. And you will become exactly as your father.”

  Thor’s eyes glazed over, his mind clouded, as he was flooded with appreciation.

  “I would like that, father,” he answered. “I would like that very much.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Mycoples lay on the deck of the Empire ship, curled up in a ball beneath the Akron netting that clamped her down. Overwhelmed with sadness, she felt the rocking of the ocean beneath her, the gentle rise and fall of the boat, and opened one eye just a bit. She saw Empire soldiers reveling, drinking, celebrating, clearly thrilled with themselves that they had subdued a dragon. She felt the aches all over her body from where they had poked and prodded and stabbed her.

  She looked out, beyond them, and Mycoples saw the yellow waters of the Tartuvian, stretching as far as the eye could see. Mycoples closed her eyes again, wishing this would all just go away. She wished she could return to the land of her birth, to the land of the dragons, and be with her clan once again. Even more so, she wished that she could be at Thor’s side. But she knew that Thor was far gone from her, lost in another place. He was not the Thorgrin she once knew.

  Mycoples sensed these soldiers would take her back to the Empire, put her on parade, make her a show-thing for the Empire soldiers. She sensed that she would be chained for the rest of her life, tortured, displayed like an artifact. As she thought of the misery of her life to come, it tortured her. She wished she could just die now, with pride, in one last great battle. She hadn’t survived for thousands of years only for this, to be captured and held prisoner by humans. She had been warned never to get too close to a human, and she had made a mistake and allowed herself to be vulnerable. Her love for Thor had made her weak, had made her lower her defenses. And now she was paying the price.

  Yet, despite it all, Mycoples still loved him—and she would do it all over again, just for him.

  Mycoples closed her eyes, heavy from exhaustion, from the netting digging into her, from the wounds all over her body. And she wished only to be far from here.

  *

  Mycoples did not know how long she’d slept when she was awakened by a great whooshing noise. It sounded like an intense rain, and she felt her whole body become wet.

  She looked up
and saw that the ship was entering the Rain Wall. They were all suddenly immersed in a solid wall of rain, showering straight down on them. It was like going through a waterfall.

  The Empire soldiers panicked, grabbing hold of the decks as the ship passed through. The noise became deafening. Mycoples welcomed it, the rain cooling her, steam rising off her scales from baking in the sun all these days. The pounding of the water momentarily took her mind off the troubles before her.

  Slowly, they came out the other side.

  Mycoples opened her eyes and saw that they had entered the red waters of the Sea of Blood. She realized the soldiers were taking the most direct route to the Empire, by circumventing the Isle of Mist.

  Her heart fluttered as she felt a sudden flurry of hope. She had flown over the Isle of Mist with her clan many times. She knew it to be home to great warriors. And she also knew it to be home to something even more important: a rogue dragon. Ralibar.

  Mycoples had met Ralibar once, centuries ago. He was a recluse, and he was unlike other dragons. He disliked his own kind; yet he disliked humans more. If they passed by, and Ralibar saw her in this predicament, perhaps he would come to her aid. Not because he liked her, but because he hated humans. Perhaps, he would even help free her.

  Mycoples knew what she had to do: she had to somehow get this boat to sail to the Isle of Mist. She could not let them circumvent it. She had to get this boat directly onto the island. She had to get it to crash onto the island’s rocks.

  Mycoples closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She felt the sea air rushing through her scales, felt her body begin to tingle, as she summoned the last vestige of power she had. She called upon the Ancient Ones, who had guided her for thousands of years, to plead for one last favor. She did not ask for strength for herself. She did not even ask for the strength to battle.

  Instead, she asked simply for the wind to answer her. The sky. The ocean. With her ancient, primordial dragon spirit, she summoned them all, called upon them to grant her this one favor. She asked for the wind to cry, the waves to rise, the skies to darken. She commanded them all, in the names of her ancestors, in the names of the ones who walked the planet before all others. Dragons had been here first. And dragons had the right to command nature.