A Grant of Arms sr-8 Read online

  “Nonsense,” Reece countered. “Everything must have a floor. Even the sea.”

  “Well, even if the bottom does exist,” Krog retorted, “what good does it do us if it so far down that we can neither see nor hear it? It could take us days to reach it—weeks.”

  “Not to mention, it’s hardly a leisurely hike,” Serna said. “Have you not seen the cliffs?”

  Reece turned and surveyed the cliffs, the ancient rock walls of the canyon, partially concealed in the swirling mists. They were straight, vertical. He knew they were right; it would not be easy. Yet he also knew that they had no choice.

  “It gets worse,” Reece retorted. “Those walls are also slick with mist. And even if we do reach the bottom, we might not ever get back up.”

  They all stared at him, puzzled.

  “Then you yourself agree that it is madness to try,” Krog said.

  “I agree it is madness,” Reece said, his voice booming with authority and confidence. “But madness is what we were born for. We are not mere men; we are not mere citizens of the Ring. We are a special breed: we are soldiers. We are warriors. We are men of the Legion. We took a vow, an oath. We vowed never to shy from a quest because it is too difficult or dangerous, never to hesitate though an endeavor may cause personal harm. It is for the weak to hide and cower—not for us. That is what makes us warriors. That is the very essence of valor: you embark on a cause bigger than yourself because it is the right thing to do, the honorable thing to do, even if it may be impossible. After all, it is not the achievement that makes something valorous, but the attempt of it. It is bigger than us. It is who we are.”

  There came a heavy silence, as the wind whipped through and the others contemplated his words.

  Finally, Indra stepped forward.

  “I am with Reece,” she said.

  “As am I,” Elden added, stepping forward.

  “And I,” O’Connor added, stepping to Reece’s side.

  Conven walked silently beside Reece, gripping the hilt of his sword, and turned and faced the others. “For Thorgrin,” he said, “I would go to the ends of the earth.”

  Reece felt emboldened having his tried-and-true Legion members at his side, these people who had become as close to him as family, who had ventured with him to the ends of the Empire. The five of them stood there and stared back at the two new Legion members, Krog and Serna, and Reece wondered if they were going to join them. They could use the extra hands; but if they wanted to turn back, then so be it. He would not ask twice.

  Krog and Serna stood there, staring back, unsure.

  “I am a woman,” Indra said to them, “as you have mocked me before. And yet here I stand, ready for a warrior’s challenge—while there you are, with all your muscles, mocking and afraid.”

  Serna grunted, annoyed, brushing back his long brown hair from his wide, narrow eyes and stepping forward.

  “I will go,” he said, “but only for Thorgrin’s sake.”

  Krog was the only one who stood there, red-faced, defiant.

  “You are damn fools,” he said. “All of you.”

  But still, he stepped forward, joining them.

  Reece, satisfied, turned and led them to the Canyon’s edge. There was no more time to waste.

  * * *

  Reece clung to the side of the cliff as he inched his way down, the others several feet above him, all of them making the painful descent, as they had been for hours. Reece’s heart pounded as he scrambled to keep his footing, his fingers raw and numb with cold, his feet slipping on the slick rock. He had not anticipated it to be this hard. He had looked down and had studied the terrain, the shape of the rock, and had noticed that in some places, the rock went straight down, perfectly smooth, impossible to climb; in other places it was covered in a dense moss; and in still others, it had a serrated slope, indents, holes, nooks, and crannies in which one could place one’s feet and hands. He had even spotted the occasional ledge to rest on.

  Yet the actual climbing had proved much harder than it had seemed. The mist perpetually obscured his view, and as Reece swallowed and looked down, he was having a harder and harder time finding footholds. Not to mention, even after all this time climbing, the bottom, if it even existed, remained out of sight.

  Inwardly, Reece was feeling a mounting fear, a dryness in his throat. A part of him wondered if he had made a grave mistake.

  But he dared not show his fear to the others. With Thor gone, he was their leader now, and he needed to set an example. He also knew that indulging his fears would not do him any good. He needed to stay strong and to stay focused; he knew that fear would only obscure his abilities.

  Reece’s hands were trembling as he got a hold of himself. He told himself he had to forget what lay below and concentrate just on what lay before him.

  Just one step at a time, he told himself. He felt better thinking of it that way.

  Reece found another foothold, and took another step down, then another, and found himself starting to get back into a rhythm.

  “WATCH OUT!” someone yelled.

  Reece braced himself as small pebbles suddenly showered down all around him, bouncing off his head and shoulders. He looked up to see a large rock come hurling down; he dodged and just missed it.

  “Sorry!” O’Connor called down. “Loose rock!”

  Reece’s heart was pounding as he looked back down and tried to stay calm. He was dying to know where the bottom was; he reached over, grabbed a small rock which had landed on his shoulder, and, looking down, hurled it.

  He watched, waiting to see if it made a noise.

  It never did.

  His foreboding deepened. There was still no sense of where the canyon ended. And with his hands and feet already trembling, he did not know if they could make it. Reece swallowed, all sorts of thoughts racing through his brain as he continued. What if Krog had been right? What if there really was no bottom? What if this was a reckless suicide mission?

  As Reece took another step, scampering down several feet, gaining momentum again, suddenly he heard the sound of body scraping rock, and then heard someone cry out. There came a commotion beside him, and he looked over to see Elden, beginning to fall, slipping down past him.

  Reece instinctively reached out a hand, and managed to grab Elden’s wrist as he slipped past. Luckily Reece had a firm grip on the cliff with his other hand, and was able to hold Elden tightly, preventing him from sliding all the way down. Elden dangled, though, unable to find footing. Elden was too big and heavy, and Reece felt his strength slipping away.

  Indra appeared, scaling down quickly, and reached out and grabbed Elden’s other wrist. Elden scrambled, but could not find footing.

  “I can’t find a hold!” Elden screamed back, panic in his voice. He kicked wildly, and Reece feared that he would lose his own grip and go falling down with him. He thought quickly.

  Reece recalled the rope and grappling hook O’Connor had shown him before their descent, the tool of choice they used to scale walls during a siege. In case it comes in handy, O’Connor had said.

  “O’Connor, your rope!” Reece screamed. “Throw it down!”

  Reece looked up and watched O’Connor pull the rope from his waist, lean back and impale the hook into a nook in the wall. He sank it in with all his might, tested it several times, then threw it down. The rope dangled past Reece.

  It couldn’t have come a moment sooner. Elden’s slippery palm was sliding out of Reece’s hand, and as he began to fall back, Elden reached out and grabbed the rope. Reece held his breath, praying it held.

  It did. Elden slowly pulled himself up, until finally he found a strong footing. He stood on a ledge, breathing hard, back to his old balance. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, and so did Reece. It had been too close.

  * * *

  They climbed and climbed, until Reece did not know how much time had passed. The sky turned darker, and Reece dripped with sweat despite the cold, feeling as if any moment could be his last. His
hands and feet shook violently, and the sound of his own breathing filled his ears. He wondered how much more of this he could take. He knew that if they did not find the bottom soon, they would all have to stop and rest, especially as night fell. But the problem was, there was nowhere to stop and rest.

  Reece could not help but wonder, if they all became too exhausted, if the others might just begin to fall, one at a time.

  There came a great clamor of rock, and then a small avalanche, tons of pebbles raining down, landing on Reece’s head and face and eyes. His heart stopped as he heard a scream—a different one this time, a scream of death. Out of the corner of his eye he saw plummeting past him, almost faster than he could process, a body.

  Reece reached out a hand to grab him, but it happened too fast. All he could do was turn and watch as he spotted Krog, airborne, flailing, shrieking, falling backward, straight down into nothingness.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Kendrick sat astride his horse, beside Erec, Bronson, and Srog, out in front of his thousands of men as he faced down Tirus and the Empire. They had walked right into a trap. They had been sold out by Tirus, and Kendrick realized now, too late, that it had been a great mistake to trust him.

  Kendrick looked up and to his right, and saw ten thousand Empire soldiers high on the ridge of the valley, arrows at the ready; to his left he saw just as many. Before them stood even more. Kendrick’s few thousand men could never possibly outfight this number of soldiers. They would be slaughtered to even try. And with all those bows drawn, the slightest move would result in the massacre of his men. Geographically, being at the base of a valley, didn’t help them either. Tirus had chosen his ambush location well.

  As Kendrick sat there, helpless, his face burning with rage and indignation, he stared back at Tirus, who sat up high on his horse with a self-satisfied smile. Beside him sat his four sons, and beside them, an Empire commander.

  “Is money that important to you?” Kendrick asked Tirus, hardly ten feet away, his voice as cold as steel. “Would you sell your own people, your own blood?”

  Tirus showed no remorse; he smiled still wider.

  “Your people are not my blood, remember?” he said. “That is why I am not, according to your laws, entitled to my brother’s throne.”

  Erec cleared his throat in anger.

  “The MacGil laws pass the throne to the son—not to the brother.”

  Tirus shook his head.

  “All inconsequential now. Your laws no longer matter. Might always triumphs over law. It is those with might who dictate the law. And now as you can see, I am stronger. Which means, from now on, I write the law. Succeeding generations will remember none of your laws. All that they will remember is that I, Tirus, was King. Not you, and not your sister.”

  “Thrones taken illegitimately never last,” Kendrick countered. “You may kill us; you may even convince Andronicus to grant you a throne. But you and I both know you won’t rule for long. You’ll be betrayed by the same treachery you instilled on us.”

  Tirus sat there, unfazed.

  “Then I shall savor those brief days on my throne while they last—and I shall applaud the man that can betray me with as much skill as I used to betray you.”

  “Enough talk!” the Empire commanders yelled out. “Surrender now or your men will die!”

  Kendrick stared back, furious, knowing he needed to surrender but not wanting to.

  “Lay down your arms,” Tirus said calmly, his voice reassuring, “and I will treat you fairly, as one warrior to another. You shall be my prisoners of war. I may not share your laws, but I do honor the battle code of a warrior. I promise you, you shall not be harmed under my watch.”

  Kendrick looked over at Bronson, at Srog, and at Erec, who glanced back at him. All of them sat there, proud warriors each, horses prancing beneath them, silent.

  “Why should we trust you?” Bronson called out to Tirus. “You who have already proven that your word means nothing. I am of a mind to die here on the battlefield, just to wipe that smug smile off your face.”

  Tirus turned and scowled at Bronson.

  “You speak though you are not even a MacGil. You are a McCloud. You have no right interfering in MacGil business.”

  Kendrick came to the defense of his friend: “Bronson is as much a MacGil now as any of us. He speaks with the voice of our men.”

  Tirus gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed.

  “The choice is yours. Look all about you and see our thousands of archers at the ready. You have been outwitted. If you even reach for your swords, your men will fall dead on the spot. Surely even you can see that. There are times to fight, and times to surrender. If you want to protect your men, you will do what any good commander would do. Lay down your arms.”

  Kendrick clenched his jaw several times, burning up inside. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Tirus was correct. He glanced about and knew in an instant that most if not all of his men would die here if they tried to fight. As much as he wanted to fight, it would be the selfish choice; and as much as he despised Tirus, he sensed he was telling the truth and that his men would not be harmed. As long as they lived, they could always fight another day, in some other place, on some other battlefield.

  Kendrick looked over at Erec, a man he had fought with countless times, the champion of the Silver, and knew he was thinking the same thing. It was different to be a leader than to be a warrior: a warrior could fight with reckless abandon, but a leader had to think of others first.

  “There is a time for arms, and a time for surrender,” Erec called out. “We will take you for your word as a warrior that our men shall be unharmed, and on that condition, we will lay down our arms. But if you violate your word, God rest your soul, I will come back from hell to avenge each and every one of my men.”

  Tirus nodded, satisfied, and Erec reached out and dropped his sword and scabbard down to the ground. They landed with a clang.

  Kendrick followed, as did Bronson and Srog, each of them reluctant but knowing it was the wise course.

  Behind them came the clash of thousands of weapons, all falling through the air and landing on the winter ground, all the Silver and MacGils and Silesians surrendering.

  Tirus smiled wide.

  “Now dismount,” he commanded.

  One at a time, they dismounted, standing before their horses.

  Tirus grinned, reveling in his victory.

  “For all those years I was exiled to the Upper Isles, I envied King’s Court, my elder brother, all of his power. But now which MacGil holds all the power?”

  “The power of treachery is no power at all,” Bronson said back.

  Tirus scowled and nodded to his men.

  They rushed forward and bound each of their wrists with coarse ropes. They all began to get dragged away, thousands of them captive.

  As Kendrick was being pulled, he suddenly recalled his brother, Godfrey. They had all set off together, yet he had not seen him or his men anywhere since. He wondered if somehow he had managed to escape? He prayed that he would find a better fate than they. Somehow, he was optimistic.

  With Godfrey, one never knew.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Godfrey rode out in front of his men, flanked by Akorth, Fulton, and his Silesian general, and riding beside the Empire commander whom he had paid off liberally. Godfrey rode with a wide smile on his face, more than satisfied as he looked over and saw the division of Empire men, several thousand strong, riding alongside them, joining his cause.

  He reflected with satisfaction on the payoff he had given them, the endless bags of gold, recalled the looks on their faces, and was elated that his plan had worked. He hadn’t been sure of it up until the last moment, and for the first time, he breathed easy. There were many ways to win a battle, after all, and he had just won one without shedding a drop of blood. Perhaps that didn’t make him as chivalrous or bold as the other warriors. But, still, it made him successful. And at the end of the day, wasn’t that the goal? He
would rather keep all his men alive with a little bit of bribery than see half of them killed in some reckless act of chivalry. That was just him.

  Godfrey had worked hard to achieve what he had. He’d used all of his black-market connections through the brothels, back alleys, and taverns in order to find out who had been sleeping with whom, which brothels the Empire commanders frequented in the Ring, and which Empire commander was open to being paid off. Godfrey had deeper illicit contacts than most—indeed, he had spent his entire life accumulating them—and now they had come in handy. It had also not hurt that he had paid each of his contacts off well. Finally, he had put his daddy’s gold to good use.

  Still, Godfrey had not been sure if they were reliable, not until the last moment. There was no one to sell you out like a thief, and he’d had to take the chance that he was being had. He knew it was a coin toss, that these people were only as reliable as the gold they were paid. But he’d paid them with very, very fine gold, and they had turned out to be more reliable than he thought.

  Of course, he had no idea how long this division of Empire troops would remain loyal. But at least they had wormed their way out of one battle, and for now, had them at their side.

  “I was wrong about you,” came a voice.

  Godfrey turned to see the Silesian general coming up beside him with a look of admiration.

  “I doubted you, I must admit,” he continued. “I apologize. I could not have imagined the plan you had up your sleeve. It was ingenious. I won’t question you again.”

  Godfrey smiled back, feeling vindicated. All the generals, all the military types, had doubted him his whole life. In his father’s court, a court of warriors, he had always been looked upon with disdain. Now, finally, they were seeing that he, in his own way, could be as competent as them.

  “Don’t worry,” Godfrey said. “I question myself. I am learning as I go. I am not a commander, and I have no master plan other than to survive any way I can.”