A Grant of Arms

by Morgan Rice

  Thor rode with his father, and he held his sword high. He and Andronicus rode side-by-side, and it felt good to ride with him. They were in unison, together in battle, prepared to face the world together, as father and son should.

  The two of them charged down the slope, aiming for Romulus’ men, and they all met halfway, in a great clash of arms. Thousands of warriors rushed headlong into each other; leading the fray, the first into battle, was Andronicus. He raised his great battle axe, swung it in the air, and met Romulus as he charged for his former leader. Romulus swung his axe, too, and the two of them locked, like rams, each as powerful as the other, each wanting to kill the other with all his heart.

  Thor aimed for Romulus’ commander, and the commander raised his shield, but it did little good: Thor’s blow was so strong, it sliced the shield in half. The commander raised his sword to slash back, but Thor was too fast. He kept charging, and with another blow, slashed the man across the stomach, making him slump forward, face-first into the dirt.

  The sound of clashing metal filled Thor’s ears as all around them, thousands of soldiers fought hand to hand. None fought so deftly as Thor. He slashed and parried and ducked and weaved in every direction, taking down dozens of men before they could move quickly enough to react to him. He cut through the men like a one-man army, felling soldiers left and right, and pushing the stalemate in favor of Andronicus.

  Due to Thor’s efforts, the tide began to turn between the two equally matched divisions. Romulus initially had the advantage of surprise and momentum, since no Empire men had expected to be fighting each other on this day. But Thor tipped the odds, single-handedly pushing back more and more of Romulus’ men as they poured in to try to take Highlandia.

  Romulus and Andronicus went blow for blow, cracking their great battle axes into each other with a shrill clang of metal, like two old rams battling for power. Andronicus was much taller than Romulus, but Romulus was wide and had strength unlike any Thor had ever seen. They were a spectacle to watch, like two mountains, neither seeming able to give into the other.

  A wounded soldier fell onto the back on Andronicus’ horse, and Andronicus’ horse pranced, off-balance; the loss of balance was just enough to give Romulus a slight advantage. Andronicus’ axe lowered momentarily, just enough for Romulus to land a blow, slicing him hard on the shoulder, and knocking Andronicus off his horse.

  Romulus wasted no time: he dismounted, raised his axe high with both hands and prepared to bring it down on Andronicus’ exposed head.

  Thor’s heart fell; he dove off his horse face-first, and tackled Romulus down to the ground, right before Romulus could land the deadly blow. They stumbled back several feet, and the two fell and wrestled in the mud, rolling again and again, soldiers dying all around them.

  Finally, Romulus gained the upper hand, rolling and throwing Thor off him. He pulled a dagger from his waist, and aimed it for Thor’s throat; it all happened too quickly for Thor to react.

  Andronicus appeared and knocked the blade from Romulus’ hand before it could hurt Thor, saving his life.

  Andronicus then swung for Romulus’ head with his axe; but Romulus rolled out of the way, and the axe lodged instead in the mud.

  A horn sounded, and the sky darkened with arrows. Romulus’ men fell left and right, screaming out in pain, scores of them felled by arrows as Andronicus’ reinforcements arrived. The tide of the battle had turned.

  Romulus’ men began to retreat. Romulus, seeing what was happening, no longer challenged Andronicus; instead, he ducked throughout the crowd, found his horse, kicked hard, and turn and fled with his remaining men.

  Andronicus saw Thor on the ground, realized he had been saved by him once again, and his heart welled with gratitude. He reached a hand down to pull up his son.

  Thornicus took his father’s hand, realizing his father had saved his life, too. They stood there, clasping hands, father and son, each sacrificing their lives for the other. Andronicus looked down at Thor with respect, and Thor returned it. Finally, Thor had found the father he had always craved in life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Romulus charged with his fleeing men, downhill, away from Highlandia, infuriated. He was shocked at his defeat. He had never lost a battle before, and he could not reconcile it. He had overreached. He should have stuck to his original plan to find a MacGil, cross the Canyon, and attack with his full army; instead, he went for the quick and hasty kill. He had become too emboldened, too confident. He had made the mistake of an amateur commander, and he hated himself for it.

  Romulus had experienced multiple failures. His initial plot had been to send an assassin to kill Andronicus in the night, and somehow that had failed. His second plot had been to rally his men at dawn, to use his newfound momentum to come upon Andronicus unaware, and to take a quick stab at murdering him. He knew he’d be outnumbered, but he thought, if only he could kill him quickly, then it wouldn’t matter; all the remaining Empire men would of course rally under his command at once.

  In retrospect, it was a hasty and rash decision, and he should have waited. He should have lowered the Shield first, and then attacked in force. There were no shortcuts to victory.

  Romulus kept replaying in his mind how close he had come, and that was what upset him most. He’d almost had Andronicus and surely would have killed him if it had not been for Thornicus. He had not expected Thornicus to be there, by Andronicus’ side, and had not expected such a lethal adversary. Andronicus would be dead right now if it weren’t for him. When all this settled down, Romulus vowed to kill Thor himself. The idea of that cheered him up: he would kill father and son together. At least he had escaped, unlike many of his men.

  Now he rode towards his second objective. On the ride across the Ring, Romulus had slaughtered and tortured many soldiers along the way, for the fun of it. He had also interrogated them, and had learned of the MacGil who had been captured by Andronicus: Luanda. MacGil’s firstborn daughter. She would do perfectly.

  Romulus rode now to where the soldiers had told him she would be, on the outskirts of the camp. He was ready to execute his backup plan. He rode hard, and finally reached it; he went to the stocks and found the lone girl bound to a post, her hair shaved off. That was her: Luanda, half-dressed, bruised and beaten, a bloody mess. She was tied to the post, barely conscious, and Romulus did not even slow his horse as he galloped right towards her.

  He raised his great axe high and chopped off her ropes, then with his other hand he reached down and grabbed her roughly by the shirt, and in one motion hoisted her onto the front of his horse.

  Luanda, panic-stricken, screamed, struggling to get away.

  But Romulus did not give her the chance. He reached over with his huge arm and wrapped it entirely around her body, firmly, squeezing her tightly against him. The feel of her in his arms felt good. If he did not need her to bring across the bridge, he might have his way with her now, then kill her on the spot. But he needed her to lower the Shield, and there was little time to waste.

  Romulus kicked his horse and rode twice as fast, forking away from his men, taking the lone road that headed to the Canyon. When he was done with her, he could always kill her then, just for fun.

  Romulus rode with a smile, and the more Luanda screamed, fighting and protesting, the more he smiled. He had his prize. Soon they would be at the bridge, over the crossing.

  Finally, the shield would be lowered. His army would invade. And the Ring would be his for all time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Reece lay on the ground at the base of the Canyon, ribs aching, and looked up as the razor-sharp teeth of the beast plunged down to kill him. He knew that in moments, those teeth would sink into his chest and tear out his heart. He braced himself for the agony to come.

  There came an awful shriek, and at first Reece was sure it was his own.

  Then he opened his eyes and realized it was the shriek of the beast, an awful scream, piercing the air and rising up to the heavens. The
beast leaned back its head and roared and roared, flailing its arms wildly. Then suddenly, it became very still, keeled over, and lay perfectly still.

  Dead.

  The world, once again, was still.

  Reece sat up, eyes wide with wonder, trying to comprehend what had just happened. How had this beast, which had injured them all, suddenly died?

  Reece noticed a spear sticking through the right foot of the beast, embedded in the ground. There, standing over the beast, wielding the spear with a self-satisfied grin, stood a stranger. He was tall and thin, with a short beard, wearing rags, with long, shaggy hair. He was skinny, perhaps in his late forties, and he smiled infectiously.

  “You always kill a lombok through its foot,” he explained, as if it were the most obvious thing, extracting his spear out of the ground. “That’s where its heart is. Didn’t you ever learn that?”

  The stranger stepped forward, held out a palm, and Reece grabbed it and let him pull him to his feet. The man, though skinny, was surprisingly strong.

  Reece looked back, still stunned, hardly knowing how to react. This man had just saved his life.

  “I…um…” he stammered. “I…don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Thank me?” the man repeated. He leaned back and laughed, then clasped a warm hand on Reece’s shoulder, friendly, turning and walking with him. “There’s nothing to thank me for, good friend. I hate lomboks. They take my traps every time and leave me hungry every other night. No, thank me not at all. You did me a favor. You got it out in the open, and made it an easy kill.”

  The man surveyed Reece’s group, and shook his head.

  “Such a shame. All fine warriors. You were just aiming for the wrong spot.”

  “Who are you?” O’Connor asked, coming over. “Where do you hail from? What are you doing down here?”

  The man laughed heartily.

  “I am Centra. Pleased to meet you all, but I can’t answer so many questions at once. I came down here many years ago—just curious, I guess. I couldn’t stand living under the thumb of the McClouds. I used a series of ropes to scale down the Canyon wall, and I never came back up. Out of choice. At first I was just exploring, but I grew to like it down here, all to myself. Exotic. Do you know what I mean? I’m a loner, so I don’t mind not having the company. But I must say, you’re the first human faces I’ve seen since, and it feels good to see my people. To strength!”

  Centra pulled a liquid-filled pouch from his waist and leaned back and drank. He then held it up and motioned for Reece’s mouth.

  Reece didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t want to offend him, so he tentatively opened his mouth, and let Centra squirt the liquid in. It landed on the back of Reece’s throat, and burned, and Reece coughed.

  Centra laughed aloud.

  “What is it?” Reece asked, gasping, as Centra went around and squirted it in each person’s mouth.

  “Atibar,” he answered. “It flows in a stream not far from here. Burns, does it? But how does it make you feel?”

  Reece felt a tingling run up and down his body, and soon he felt lightheaded, relaxed. He definitely felt less on-edge; he didn’t feel the pains and bumps and bruises all over his body as acutely as he had.

  As the others finished their round, Centra reached out and offered more to Reece; but this time Reece held up a hand and stopped him.

  “Have some more, my friend,” Centra said. “It wears off quickly.”

  Reece shook his head.

  “Thank you, but I need my head clear.”

  “You saved our lives,” Elden said, stepping forward in all seriousness. “And that is something we take very seriously. We owe you a great debt. Name your price. Men of the Legion always honor what they owe.”

  Centra shook his head.

  “You owe me nothing. But if it makes you happy, I’ll tell you what: help me find a good meal for the night. That damn lombok stole it. I want to get something before nightfall.”

  “We will help you any way we can,” Reece said.

  Centra surveyed the group.

  “And why are you all down here, if I may ask?”

  “We have come on urgent business,” Reece replied. “Have you seen the Sword?”

  “The Sword?” Centra asked, eyebrows raised high. “What sword? It seems to me you are already carrying swords.”

  Reece shook his head.

  “No, the Sword. The Destiny Sword. It was embedded in a boulder. It plummeted over the edge.”

  Centra’s eyes opened wide.

  “The actual Destiny Sword?” he said, awe in his voice. “It is not down here, is it?”

  Reece nodded.

  “But how can it be? It is the sword of legend. What on earth would it be doing down here? In any case, I have seen no boulders, nor any swords. Are you sure—wait a minute,” he said, stopping himself. “Wait a minute,” he said, rubbing his chin, “you don’t mean the explosion, do you?”

  Reece and the others looked at each other, puzzled.

  “Explosion?” O’Connor asked.

  “Earlier, something fell down from high above,” Centra said, “so loud, it shook the whole place. I didn’t see it, but I felt it. Who didn’t? It left a huge crater.”

  Reece’s heart raced faster.

  “Crater?” Reece asked. “That would make sense. The boulder would make a crater, from that high up.” He stepped closer to Centra and asked in all seriousness: “Can you lead us there?”

  Centra shrugged.

  “I don’t see why not. The best game lies in that direction anyway. Follow me. But be quick about it: we don’t want to be walking about at nightfall. Not when the night mist swirls.”

  Centra turned and walked away quickly, and Reece and the others fell in behind him, O’Connor and Elden helping to carry Krog as he limped heavily. All of them were slow to regroup from their battle, rubbing their wounds, gathering their weapons, walking stiffly, none of them moving as fast or as nimbly as they were before. That battle with the lombok had taken its toll; Reece realized again how lucky they were to make it out alive.

  They marched in the mud, in and out of the brightly-colored woods, and followed Centra as he weaved a dizzying path down some invisible trail that only he must have known. Reece could see no discernible sign of a path, but clearly Centra knew where he was going. The swirling mists blew in and out, and Reece wondered how on earth Centra was able to navigate this place. It all looked the same to him, and if it weren’t for Centra, he realized he would be inextricably lost.

  It was getting darker as they went, and Reece was getting concerned. The sound of animals never stopped, and he could not help but wonder which creatures came out here at night? If the lombok existed, what other creatures might there be?

  They marched and marched, and just as Reece was about to ask Centra how much farther they had to go, suddenly they stumbled upon a gap in the trees. All the trees here had been flattened, their branches broken, the trunks pushed back at unnatural angles. He walked more quickly, catching up to Centra, who suddenly reached up and put a rough palm on Reece’s chest, stopping him from taking another step forward.

  Reece stopped short and realized he was lucky Centra had stopped him. As the mist rose, right beneath them, at the edge of his feet, there was revealed a huge crater, at least twenty feet in diameter and sinking a good twenty yards down into the earth. It looked as if a meteor had destroyed an entire section of the forest.

  Reece’s heart pounded as he knew immediately that this must be the crater left by the plummeting of the boulder.

  Reece searched excitedly for the Sword. All the others came up beside them, peering down over the edge, shocked.

  But as the mist cleared, Reece was shocked and disappointed to see the crater was empty.

  “How can it be?” O’Connor asked, beside him.

  “It’s not possible,” Elden said.

  “The boulder is not there,” Indra said.

  “Perhaps this is a different crater,”
Serna said.

  Reece turned to Centra.

  “Are you sure this is the spot?” Reece asked.

  Centra nodded vigorously.

  “This is it,” he said. “I am certain. I was not far when it happened, and I came to look for myself. I noticed a large stone, with a piece of metal in it, now that you mention it. I didn’t think much of it.”

  “Then where is it?” Elden asked, skeptical.

  “I am not lying,” Centra said indignantly.

  Reece examined the floor of the crater carefully, and as the mist cleared, he noticed tracks leading up one side of it. It looked as if the boulder had been dragged up one side of the crater.

  Reece walked over to it quickly, as did the others, and as he got close, he realized it was definitely the trail of the boulder, wide and deep, made as it was dragged away. All around were dozens of footprints. They were strange prints, too small to be quite human.

  Centra stood over them, kneeled down in the mud, and he reached down and fingered the prints knowingly.

  “Faws,” he said.

  “What is that?” Reece asked.

  “These are their tracks. They are a hostile tribe. Scavengers. It makes sense. They live on the far side of the Canyon. They would come and salvage something like this. They salvage anything they can find.”

  “What do you mean?” Indra pressed. “They took the boulder? How could they have the strength?”

  Centra sighed.

  “They move as one. There are thousands of them. Together, they can do anything, like worker ants. They live that way,” he said, pointing. “Well, that’s that. Sorry about your Sword. But if the Faws have it, you can’t get it back.”

  “Why do you say that?” Reece asked.

  “They are a vicious and hostile tribe,” Centra said. “Savage warriors. Part human, part something else. Everyone down here knows to stay clear of them. They’re like a mill of ants. Come near them, and they have a system of alerting each other. They would kill you before you got close. No one will survive.”