A Grant of Arms sr-8 Read online

  “And where to now?” the general asked.

  “To join with Kendrick, Erec, and the others, and do what we can to abet their cause.”

  They rode, the thousands of them, an awkward and uneasy alliance between the Empire men and Godfrey’s, charging up and down hills, across long, dry, dusty plains, heading to the valley where Kendrick had told them to rendezvous.

  As they rode, a million thoughts raced through Godfrey’s mind. He wondered how Kendrick and Erec had fared; he wondered how outnumbered they would be; and he wondered how he would fare in the next battle, a real battle. There was no more avoiding it; he had no more tricks up his sleeve, no more gold.

  He gulped, nervous. He felt that he did not have the same level of courage that all the others seemed to have, that they all seemed to be born with. Everyone else seemed so fearless in battle, and even in life. But Godfrey had to admit he was afraid. When it came down to it, to the thick of battle, he knew he would not shirk. But he was clumsy and awkward; he did not have the skills of the others, and he just didn’t know how many times he would be saved by the gods of luck.

  The others didn’t seem to care if they died—they all seemed too willing to give their lives for glory. Godfrey appreciated glory. But he loved life more. He loved his ale, and loved his food, and even now, he felt a growling in his stomach, an urge to be back in the safety of a tavern somewhere. A life of battle was just not for him.

  But Godfrey thought of Thor, out there somewhere, captive; he thought of all his kin fighting for the cause, and he knew this was where his honor, as sullied as it might be, compelled him to be.

  They rode and rode and, finally, all crested a peak and were afforded a sweeping view of the valley spread out below. They came to a halt, and Godfrey squinted into the blinding sun, trying to adjust, to make sense of the sight before him. He raised one hand to shield his eyes and looked out, confused.

  Then, to his dread, all became clear. Godfrey’s heart stopped: down below, thousands of Kendrick’s and Erec’s and Srog’s men were being dragged away, bound as captives. This was the fighting force he was supposed to meet up with. They were completely surrounded, by ten times as many Empire soldiers. They were on foot, wrists bound, all taken prisoner, all being led away. Godfrey knew Kendrick and Erec would never surrender unless there had been good reason. It looked as if they had been set up.

  Godfrey froze, struck with panic. He wondered how this could have happened. He had been expecting to find them all in the heat of a well-matched battle, had expected to charge in and join forces with them. But now, instead, they were disappearing into the horizon, already a good half-day’s ride away.

  The Empire general rode up beside Godfrey and scoffed.

  “It seems your men have lost,” the Empire general said. “That wasn’t part of our deal.”

  Godfrey turned to him, and saw how anxious the general seemed to be.

  “I paid you well,” Godfrey said, nervous but mustering his most confident voice as he felt his deal falling apart. “And you promised to join me in my cause.”

  But the Empire general shook his head.

  “I promised to join you in battle—not on a suicide mission. My few thousand men will not go up against an entire battalion of Andronicus’. Our deal has changed. You can fight them on your own—and I’m keeping your gold.”

  The Empire general turned and screamed as he kicked his horse and took off in the other direction, his men following on his heels. They soon disappeared down on the other side of the valley.

  “He has our gold!” Akorth said. “Should we pursue him?”

  Godfrey shook his head as he watched them ride off.

  “And what good would that do? Gold is gold. I’m not going to risk our lives for it. Let him go. There is always more.”

  Godfrey turned and watched the horizon, the disappearing group of Kendrick's and Erec’s men, which he cared more about. Now he was without backup, and was even more isolated than before. He felt his plans crumbling all around him.

  “Now what?” Fulton asked.

  Godfrey shrugged.

  “I have no idea,” he said.

  “You’re not supposed to say that,” Fulton said. “You’re a commander now.”

  But Godfrey merely shrugged again. “I speak the truth.”

  “This warrior stuff is hard,” Akorth said, scratching his belly as he removed his helmet. “It doesn’t seem to quite work out as you expect, does it?”

  Godfrey sat there on his horse, shaking his head, pondering what to do. He’d been dealt a hand he had not expected, and he had no contingency plan.

  “Should we turn back?” Fulton asked.

  “No,” Godfrey heard himself say, surprising even himself.

  The others turned and looked at him, shocked. Others huddled closer to hear his command.

  “I may not be a great warrior,” Godfrey said, “but those are my brothers out there. They are being taken away. We cannot turn back. Even if it means our deaths.”

  “Are you mad?” the Silesian general asked. “All of those fine warriors of the Silver, of the MacGils, of the Silesians—all of them, and they could not fight back the Empire’s men. How do you think a few thousand of our men, under your command, will do it?”

  Godfrey turned to him, annoyed. He was tired of being doubted.

  “I never said we would win,” he countered. “I say only that it is the right thing to do. I will not abandon them. Now if you want to turn around and go home, feel free. I will attack them myself.”

  “You are an inexperienced commander,” he said, scowling. “You know not of what you speak. You will lead all these men to certain death.”

  “I am,” Godfrey said. “That is true. But you promised not to doubt me again. And I won’t be turning around.”

  Godfrey rode several feet forward and up an elevation so that he could be seen by all his men.

  “MEN!” he called out, his voice booming. “I know you don’t know me as a tried-and-true commander, as you do Kendrick or Erec or Srog. And it is true, I do not have their skills. But I have heart, at least on occasion. And so do you. What I know is that those are our brothers out there, captured. And I myself would rather not live than live to see them taken away before our eyes, than go back home like dogs to our cities and await the Empire to come and kill us, too. Be sure of it: they will kill us one day. We can all go down now, on our feet, fighting, chasing the enemy as free men. Or we can go down in shame and dishonor. The choice is yours. Ride with me, and live or not, you will ride to glory!”

  There came a shout from his men, one so enthusiastic that it surprised Godfrey. They all raised their swords high into the air, and it gave him courage.

  It also made Godfrey realize the reality of what he just said. He had not really thought through his words before saying them; he just got swept up in the moment. Now he realized he was committed to it, and he was a little shocked by his own words. His own bravery was daunting to even him.

  As the men pranced on their horses, prepared their arms, and got ready for their final charge, Akorth and Fulton came up alongside him.

  “Drink?” Akorth asked.

  Godfrey looked down and saw him reaching out with a skin of wine, and he snatched it from Akorth’s hand; he threw his head back and drank and drank, until he had nearly drunk the whole thing, barely stopping to catch his breath. Finally, Godfrey wiped the back of his mouth and handed it back.

  What have I done? he wondered. He had committed himself, and the others, to a battle he could not win. Had he been thinking clearly?

  “I didn’t think you had it in you,” Akorth said, patting him roughly on the back as he belched. “Quite a speech. Better than theater!”

  “We should have sold tickets!” Fulton chimed in.

  “I guess you’re not half wrong,” Akorth said. “Better to die on our feet than on our backs.”

  “Although on our backs might not be half bad, if it’s in a brothel bed,” Fulton added.r />
  “Hear hear!” Fulton said. “Or how about dying with a mug of ale in our arms and our heads tilted back!”

  “That would be fine indeed,” Akorth said, drinking.

  “But after a while I suppose, it would all get boring,” Fulton said. “How many mugs can one man drink, how many women can one man bed?”

  “Well, a lot, if you think about it rightly,” Akorth said.

  “Even so, I suppose it might be fun to die a different way. Not as boring.”

  Akorth sighed.

  “Well, if we survive all this, at least it would give us cause to really have a drink. For once in our lives, we will have earned it!”

  Godfrey turned away, trying to tune out Akorth and Fulton’s perpetual chatter. He needed to concentrate. The time had come for him to become a man, to leave behind witty banter and tavern jokes; to make real decisions that affected real men in the real world. He felt a heaviness about him; he could not help but wonder if this was as his father had felt. In some strange way, as much as he hated the man, he was beginning to sympathize with his father. And maybe even, to his own horror, to become like him.

  Forgetting the danger before him, Godfrey was overcome with a surge of confidence. He suddenly kicked his horse and with a battle cry, raced headlong down the valley.

  Behind him came the immediate battle cry of thousands, and their horses’ steps filled his ears as they charged behind him.

  Godfrey already felt light-headed, the wind in his hair, the wine going to his head, as he raced towards a certain death, and wondered what in the world he had gotten himself into.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Thor sat atop his horse, his father at his side, McCloud on his other, and Rafi close by. Behind them sat tens of thousands of Empire soldiers, the main division of Andronicus’ army, well-disciplined and patiently awaiting Andronicus’ command. They all sat atop a ridge, looking up at the Highlands, their peaks covered in snow. Atop the Highlands sat the McCloud city, Highlandia, and Thor tensed up as he watched thousands of troops exit the city and ride towards them, preparing for battle.

  These were not MacGil men; nor were they Empire soldiers. They wore an armor Thor dimly recognized; but as he tightened his grip on his new sword’s hilt, he was not sure exactly who they were, or why they were attacking.

  “McClouds. My former men,” McCloud explained to Andronicus. “All good McCloud soldiers. All men I once trained and fought with.”

  “But now they have turned against you,” Andronicus observed. “They charge to meet you in battle.”

  McCloud scowled, missing an eye, half his face branded with the Empire seal, looking grotesque.

  “I am sorry, my lord,” he said. “It is not my fault. It is the work of my boy, Bronson. He turned my own people against me. If it weren’t for him, they would all be joining me right now in your great cause.”

  “It is not because of your boy,” Andronicus corrected, steel in his voice, turning towards him. “It is because you are a weak commander and a weaker father. The failure in your son is the failure in you. I should have known you’d be unable to control your own men. I should have killed you long ago.”

  McCloud gulped, nervous.

  “My lord, you might also consider that they are not just fighting against me, but against you. They want to rid the Ring of the Empire.”

  Andronicus shook his head, fingering his necklace of shrunken heads.

  “But you are on my side now,” he said. “So to fight against me is to fight against you, too.”

  McCloud drew his sword, scowling down at the approaching army.

  “I’ll fight and kill each and every one of my own men,” he declared.

  “I know you will,” Andronicus said. “If you don’t, I will kill you myself. Not that I need your help. My men will do far more damage than you can ever dream—especially when led by my own son, Thornicus.”

  Thor sat on his horse, dimly hearing all of their conversations, yet at the same time not hearing any of it. He was in a daze. His mind swarmed with foreign thoughts he did not recognize, thoughts that pulsated through his brain and continually reminded him of the allegiance he owed his father, of his duty to fight for the Empire, of his destiny as the son of Andronicus. The thoughts swirled in his mind relentlessly, and as much as he tried, he was unable to clear his mind, to think thoughts of his own. It was as if had been taken hostage within his own body.

  As Andronicus spoke, each of his words became a suggestion in Thor’s mind, then a command. Then somehow, they became his own thoughts. Thor struggled, some small part of him trying to rid his mind of these invasive feelings, to reach a point of clarity. But the more he struggled, the harder it became.

  As he sat there on his horse, watching the incoming army galloping across the plains, he felt the blood in his veins flowing, and all he could think of was his loyalty to his father, his need to crush anyone who stood in his father’s way. Of his destiny to rule the Empire.

  “Thornicus, did you hear me?” Andronicus prodded. “Are you prepared to prove yourself in battle for your father?”

  “Yes, my father,” Thor answered, staring straight ahead. “I battle anyone who battles you.”

  Andronicus smiled wide. He turned and faced his men.

  “MEN!” he boomed. “The time has come to face the enemy, to rid the Ring of its surviving rebels once and for all. We shall begin with these McCloud men who dare defy us. Thornicus, my son, will lead us in battle. You will follow him as you would follow me. You will give your life for him as you would for me. Betrayal to him is betrayal to me!”

  “THORNICUS!” Andronicus screamed.

  “THORNICUS!” came the echo of the chorus of ten thousand Empire troops behind them.

  Thor, emboldened, raised his new sword high, the sword of the Empire, the one his beloved father had given him. He felt a power welling through it, the power of his bloodline, of his people, of all that he was meant to be. Finally he was back home, back with his father, once again. For his father, Thor would do anything. Even throw himself to death.

  Thor let out a great battle cry as he kicked his horse and went charging down the valley, the first in battle. Behind him came a great battle cry, as tens of thousands of men followed, all of them prepared to follow Thornicus to their deaths.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mycoples sat curled up, tangled inside the immense Akron net, unable to stretch, to flap her wings. She sat at the helm of the Empire ship, and struggle as she did, she could not lift her chin, move her arms, expand her claws. She had never felt worse in her life, never felt such a lack of freedom, of strength. She was curled up in a ball, blinking slowly, despondent, more so for Thor than for herself.

  Mycoples could sense Thor’s energy, even from this great distance, even as her ship sailed across the sea, rolling up and down in the monstrous waves, her body rising and falling as waves crashed onto the deck. Mycoples could feel Thor changing, becoming someone else, not the man she once knew. Her heart broke. She could not help but feel as if somehow she had let him down. She tried to struggle once again, wanting so much to go to him, to save him. But she just could not break free.

  A huge wave crashed on deck, and the foaming waters of the Tartuvian slipped beneath her net, making her slide and bang her head on the wooden hull. She cowered and snarled, not having the spirit or strength that she used to. She was resigned to her new fate, knowing she was being taken away to be killed, or worse, to live a life in captivity. She didn’t care what became of her. She just wanted Thor to be okay. And she wanted a chance, just one last chance, for vengeance on her attackers.

  “There she is! Slipped halfway across the deck!” one of the Empire soldiers yelled out.

  Mycoples felt a sudden jabbing pain on the sensitive scales of her face, and she saw two Empire soldiers, with spears thirty feet long, prodding her at a safe distance through the net. She tried to lunge forward for them, but her constraints held her down. She snarled as they poked her again and again,
laughing, clearly having fun.

  “She’s not so scary now, is she?” one asked the other.

  The other laughed, jabbing his spear close to her eye. Mycoples moved away at the last second, sparing herself blindness.

  “She’s harmless as a fly,” said one.

  “I hear they’re going to put her on display in the new Empire capitol.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” said the other. “I heard they’re going to pry off her wings and torture her for all the harm she did our men.”

  “I wish I’d be there to see that.”

  “Do we really need to deliver her intact?” one asked.

  “Orders.”

  “But I don’t see why we can’t at least maim her a little. After all, she doesn’t really need both eyes, does she?”

  The other laughed.

  “Well now that you put it that way, I guess not,” he answered. “Go for it. Have fun.”

  One of the men came closer and raised a spear high.

  “Hold still now, little girl,” the soldier said.

  Mycoples flinched, helpless as the soldier came charging forward, preparing to plunge his long spear into her eye.

  Suddenly, another wave crashed over the bow; the water took out the legs of the soldier, and he went sliding right for her face, eyes open wide in terror. In a huge burst of effort, Mycoples managed to lift one claw just high enough to allow the soldier to slip beneath her; as he did, she brought it down on him and pinned it through his throat.

  He shrieked and blood spilled everywhere, mixing with water, as he died beneath her. Mycoples felt some small satisfaction.

  The remaining Empire soldier turned and ran, screaming for help. Within moments, a dozen Empire soldiers approached, all bearing long spears.

  “Kill the beast!” one of them screamed.

  They all approached to kill her, and Mycoples felt certain that they would.

  Mycoples felt a sudden rage burn through her, unlike anything she’d ever felt. She closed her eyes and prayed to God to give her one final burst of strength.