A Grant of Arms. Morgan Rice
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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.
“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