Morgan Rice - A Grant of Arms

“Unless Andronicus decides to have us killed,” Erec added.

“But Tirus gave us his word,” Bronson said.

“Tirus’ word is not worth much,” Srog chimed in.

“Did we make a mistake to surrender then?” Bronson asked.

Kendrick wondered the same thing.

“To fight while ambushed would have meant a certain death. At least now we have a chance.”

Kendrick was yanked hard by an Empire soldier, and they all continued marching forward, heading towards the distant prison camp.

“Your wife sold us all out,” Kendrick said to Bronson. “She is the one who tricked Thor into being captured at Andronicus’ hand.”

Bronson grimaced.

“You are right,” he said, “she did. But Luanda is your sister, too. You know her nature as well as I.”

Kendrick shook his head.

“My half-sister,” he corrected. “Yet still, I recall her nature. Too ambitious. What did you see in her?”

Bronson shrugged.

“Our marriage was arranged—by our fathers. Your father. Nonetheless, I have to admit, I fell in love with her. Despite everything, she has a good side. Deep down, there is a good person in there. I guess, despite everything, I have to admit I still love her. I still have hope for her redemption.”

“Love her?” Srog asked, mortified. “After her betrayal of us all?”

Bronson shrugged. He wished he could answer otherwise, but that was how he felt.

“I know she has done terrible things,” he said. “But deep down, I also know there is a part of her that is redeemable. She is too ambitious, and she has become the victim of her own flaws. But she can change.”

Erec shook his head.

“And until she changes, how many of our men have to die?”

Bronson fell silent. Of course, they were right, and a part of him agreed with them. He wished he hated Luanda, wished he could just turn off his love for her. But he had to admit, a part of him still loved her, despite everything. He wondered if he would ever see her again, if she even cared for him anymore. He looked down and studied his missing hand, the stump that was there, and remembered he’d lost it defending her, saving her from his father’s wrath.

Had he lost if for nothing?

Finally, the huge group came to a stop as the Empire soldiers shepherded them into the fenced-off holding area. The Empire commander, high on his horse, Tirus beside him, looked down and faced off with Kendrick, Erec, Bronson, and Srog. The camp fell silent as all the troops stopped and watched.

Kendrick and the others stood there and looked up, humbled, like common prisoners.

“Tonight, you and your men will stay in this prison camp,” the general announced, his voice booming. “At dawn, you will be executed.”

An outraged gasp spread throughout the MacGil camp, and Kendrick found himself gasping, too, shocked.

Tirus turned and looked at the Empire commander, looking surprised himself, his four sons beside him, prancing on their horses, looking equally disturbed.

“But my liege, that was not the deal we struck,” Tirus said to the Empire commander. “These men were supposed to be my prisoners of war to do with as I wished. You promised no harm would come to them.”

The Empire commander turned and looked back at him.

“There are no deals to be struck with the Empire. I speak for Andronicus himself. You are lucky we have kept you alive. Unless you have changed your mind and you and your men would like to be killed along with them?”

Tirus reddened, then lowered his gaze down to the ground, looking embarrassed and caught off-guard. He fell silent, though, clearly realizing the Empire had the upper hand.

Kendrick fumed. He had been so stupid to trust Tirus again, to agree to surrender. Looking back, he should have fought to the death back there. They would have all died, but at least they would have all died with honor, as warriors, on their feet.

“I will give you a choice,” the Empire commander boomed, looking at Kendrick, Erec, Bronson, and Srog. “We can either execute you—the leaders—or execute a hundred of your men instead, and let you live. Who dies? You or your men?”

Without hesitating, Kendrick, Erec, Bronson, and Srog all, in unison, said proudly:

“We will die.”

They all stood there proudly in the silence, staring back defiantly, not a moment of hesitation running through any of their minds.

The Empire commander nodded back at them with a look of respect.

“True warriors. I expected no less. Tonight, ponder your last night on earth. Tomorrow, be prepared to meet your maker.”

Erec, Kendrick, Bronson, and Srog stood outside in the darkness of night in their own small holding pen, apart from the other prisoners, each bound to a post, hands and feet tied behind their backs, a few feet away from each other. The four of them were set apart from the others, set to be executed, while the main body of prisoners stood behind a massive fenced-in area, perhaps a hundred yards away. As Erec looked out at them, he took solace in the fact that at least his men would live.

Before they had been set apart, all throughout the night, thousands of their men had come up to them, imploring them to decline the offer, not to be executed on their behalf. Of course, Erec and the others, while touched by their offers, would not listen. They were men of honor, and if anyone had to die, they would sacrifice themselves. Erec had no regrets about that. His only regret was not having a chance to be unbound, to have his weapons drawn, to go down in a great clash of battle, as he had always dreamed he would.

But the series of betrayals had led him to this: Luanda had betrayed Thor; and Tirus had betrayed them. They had all been too trusting and now they would pay the price for it. It always astounded Erec that others did not share the same sense of honor as he. He, personally, would rather die than betray someone; for him, honor was more precious than life.

Erec stood there, bound to a post, Kendrick, Bronson, and Srog close by, and stared up at the starlit night. Erec had never spent any time on the McCloud side of the highlands, and the stars appeared different from here. It was cold here, the ground hard and the temperature dropping, and a gale swept across the landscape and entered his bones. But he did not shiver. He looked up at the night, and contemplating his time on earth being over, he wondered about his one true love: Alistair. Would he ever see her again?

Erec was so proud when Alistair had told him she would accompany Gwendolyn to the Netherworld, to protect her. It was an honor befitting his wife-to-be, and it made him love her even more. But he also worried for her. Would she make it back from the Netherworld?

Knowing he would be executed in the morning, Erec realized he would never lay eyes on her again, and the thought pained him. It was his only regret; he would give anything for a chance to see her one last time.

Erec looked around and saw that the holding area was lightly guarded, with only two Empire soldiers standing guard. It made perfect sense: the Empire had no need for guards, given that the four of them were bound to posts, stripped of their arms, and their army was in its own separate prison. In the morning, they would all be dead anyway.

Erec struggled against his ropes again, trying to break free; but he had no room to wiggle, not even an inch. As he looked out at the night, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye, moving quickly. At first he thought he was seeing things, but as he looked more closely he made out a lone figure moving in the blackness, slinking around the periphery of their fence.

Erec was confused, trying to figure out who he was and what he was doing. He peered into the blackness and caught a better glimpse as the figure moved for a moment beneath the torchlight. He saw the armor of Tirus’ men, the royal crest of Tirus’ family emblazoned on the breastplate.