Morgan Rice - An Oath of Brothers

“It is magnificent,” he said.

Ragon smiled.

“It is your reward, not mine,” he said. “The best gratitude is to use it well in battle. Protect those who are too weak to protect themselves. And protect your brothers.”

O’Connor slid it over his back and it fit perfectly, as if it were meant to be.

Matus, beside him, stepped forward and reached up and placed both hands on a long golden studded shaft, at the end of which dangled a long golden chain and three spiked golden balls. It was the most beautiful flail Thor had ever seen, and Matus held it up, chains rattling, and slowly swung it over his head. He marveled at the weight of it, and looked in wonder to Ragon.

“A hero’s weapon,” Ragon said. “That is no ordinary flail. Its chains expand and contract as needed, sensing your enemy’s distance, keeping you out of their reach, and its balls detect their master, and will not strike you, or any of your group.”

Matus swung them and they were dazzling in the light, making a soft whooshing noise as he spun them, so silent it was as if they were not even there.

Elden reached up and gingerly removed from the wall a long shaft—as long as he—with a small, gleaming golden axe-head at the end of it, its blade shaped in a razor-sharp crescent. He held it up and turned it, reflected in the light, not quite sure what to make of it.

“It’s so light,” Elden said. “And so sharp.”

Ragon nodded.

“Long enough to kill a man from ten feet away,” he said. “Your enemies shall not be able to approach you, and you can strike a man down from his horse before his lance can touch you. As a battle axe, it is unparalleled, longer, sleeker, and stronger than all others. You can cut through men or you can cut through a tree—always, in one chop. This axe never fails—and its blade never dulls.”

Elden swung it overhead, and Thor felt its wind even from here as Elden seemed to swing it effortlessly, the longest axe he’d ever seen.

Indra reached out and grabbed hold of a long spear, resting horizontally on the wall, and carefully took it down. She held it up in the light, its shaft comprised of a translucent gold material, studded with diamonds, and ending in a long, sharp diamond tip. She turned it over in her hands, examining it in awe.

“There exists no sharper spear,” Ragon said. “It is a spear that can fly farther than any other, that can pierce any man, any armor. It is befitting of you, a woman with skills to rival any man of the Legion.”

“It is magical,” she said in hushed tones.

“And loyal,” he replied. “You can never lose it. With each throw, it shall return to you.”

Indra examined it, even more impressed, clearly speechless.

Reece stepped forward and grabbed the most beautiful halberd Thor had ever seen, its three golden prongs glistening in the light, lodged into the end of a shaft of gold.

“A halberd to rival no other,” Ragon explained. “Some call it the devil’s pitchfork—yet in a true knight’s hands it is a weapon of honor. It is also incomparable in hand-to-hand combat. It is also deadly in the air: throw it, and its diamond shaft will dazzle and blind your enemy, stunning them. Take aim, and it will pierce anything in your way. And it will always return to you.”

With only Selese left amongst the group, Ragon turned to her.

“For you, my dear,” he said to her, holding out a small sack.

Selese held out her palm and he placed it inside it, and she looked down, and held it up. She opened it and poured it on her other palm, and Thor could see that it was fine golden sand. It fell through her fingers, back into the sack.

“You are not a fighter,” Ragon explained, “but a healer. This sand will heal any man from any wound. Use it wisely: there is less in this sack than you think.”

Selese bowed her head, eyes tearing up.

“A great gift, my lord,” she said. “The only gift greater than the gift of death is the gift of life.”

Thor looked over all his brothers and Indra and Selese, all of them decked with new weaponry, and he almost did not recognize them. They each looked, with their glistening, magical weapons, looked like formidable warriors. They looked like seven titans, like a group of warriors that any foe would be wise to stay far away from. Especially after emerging from the darkest hells, Thor felt as if they had all been reborn, ready to face the world.

And they had not yet even approached the wall of new armor.

Ragon looked them over approvingly.

“These are weapons to help find your way in a fierce world,” he said. “Weapons to wield with honor, weapons of light in a sea of blackness, weapons strong enough to face the demons. Honor God and fight in His name, in the cause of the just, the cause of the oppressed, and you will prevail. Fight for power, or for riches, or for greed, or for lust, or for conquest, and you will lose. Stray from the light, and no weapon can save you. You shall wield these weapons only as long as you shall merit them.”

Ragon turned to the wall of armor.

“Now go choose your armor, splendid armor, armor to match these glorious weapons.”

One by one they all fanned out across the room, each looking up at the rows and rows of golden armor. Thor was about to join them, when suddenly he was struck by something. A sixth sense.

He turned to Ragon.

“I sense there is something more,” he said, “something else you are withholding. Some great secret.”

Ragon smiled wide.

“My brother was right,” he said. “The power is indeed strong within you.”

He sighed.

“Yes, young Thorgrin. I have one more surprise for you. The greatest surprise, and the greatest gift, of all. In the morning. You will stay the night here, all of you, in my castle. And in the morning, you will not believe the joy that is coming your way.”

Godfrey, on guard, kept his eyes peeled as they rowed in their small golden vessel down the canals of Volusia, the current taking them slowly, weaving in and out of the back streets of Volusia. Everywhere, he looked for a place to stash the gold. He needed some place reliable, some place discreet, some place where they would not be watched, some place he would remember. They could not stash it in the boat, and as the tavern loomed up ahead, he knew their time was running short.

Finally, something flashed and caught his eye.

“Stop rowing!” he called out to Merek.

Merek, standing at the rear, used his long oar to slow then stop the boat, and as he did, Godfrey pointed.

“There!” Godfrey said, pointing.

Godfrey looked down and saw, up ahead, something beneath the water. Sunlight cut through the water, and perhaps six feet down, Godfrey could see the hull of a vessel, capsized long ago, sitting on the bottom of the canal. It was just shallow enough to spot, and yet just deep enough to be discreet. Even better, beside it, on the shoreline, was a small golden statue of an ox—marking a spot he could not forget.

“Down there,” Godfrey said, “beneath the water.”

They all looked over the side of the boat.

“I see a capsized boat,” said Akorth. “Stuck at the bottom.”

“Exactly,” Godfrey said. “That is where we shall leave our gold.”

“ Underwater!? ” Akorth asked, flabbergasted.

“Have you gone mad?” Fulton asked.

“What if the current carries it away?” Merek said.

“What if someone else finds it?” Ario chimed in.

Godfrey shook his head as he hoisted a sack of gold, so heavy his arm shook as he lifted it, ensured it was tied tight, and dropped it in the water. They all watched as it sank quickly, resting cozily inside the bottom of the hull.