Morgan Rice - A Grant of Arms

Thor was the first to meet the men in battle. Andronicus’ heart warmed to witness this first true test of his son’s fealty, to see if he would truly shed blood of his behalf. Thor cut through the McCloud army all alone, slicing and slashing every which way, creating a path of devastation that no one could touch. He was a one-man wave of destruction. McCloud was close behind, meeting his old army with a clash of arms, killing men left and right, equally gratifying to watch. He was Andronicus’ plaything now, to do whatever Andronicus commanded, and there he was, killing his own people, people he’d once ruled, all for the name of the Empire. All for the name of the Great Andronicus.

Andronicus’ army caught up, and the clash of arms rose to the heavens, greater and greater, the riding coming to a standstill and his men fighting hand-to-hand. It was a vicious battle, bodies falling in both directions; the McClouds had downhill momentum, and they used it wisely, taking out many of Andronicus’s men, who were just too slow charging uphill.

Andronicus himself jumped into the fray, twice as tall as any man, swinging his sword left and right. He did not flinch. He chopped off heads with single strokes, watching as they rolled to the ground, and wondering which to choose for his necklace. He pulled back his sword as a soldier approached, stabbed him in the gut and raised him high overhead, as if he were a piece of meat on a skewer. He then pulled back the sword and stabbed another soldier in the gut, then hurled the two bodies into the crowd.

Rafi, not far from him, leapt from his horse and sank his yellow fangs into a soldier’s throat, pinning him to the ground; he lay on top of him, sucking his blood. Other soldiers tried to attack him, but Rafi cast a spell, and there was a green light around him, and no one was able to come anywhere close.

The battle came to a standstill, thick with men, as the tide pushed back and forth. For a moment Andronicus was not sure which way it would sway—when suddenly, he saw Thor circle around and attack the McClouds from the rear, all by himself. He was such a force of destruction, so fast and strong and quick, that the entire rear flank of the army had to turn to fight him.

That freed up Andronicus’ men to charge forward with a great cry. They slaughtered men left and right, finally breaking the back of the battle. They soon gained the momentum they needed and finished their charge for Highlandia.

Those that remained of McCloud’s men turned and fled, running for their lives. Thor stood in the middle, victorious, killing them every which way.

Andronicus rode to his son, meeting him in the middle of the battlefield, and he raised his sword proudly, facing him.

“Thornicus!” Andronicus yelled out.

“THORNICUS!” shouted his men behind him.

Andronicus paraded slowly through the vanquished streets of Highlandia, reveling in his victory. Thornicus rode at his side, surveying the damage with him. Andronicus watched with satisfaction as McCloud murdered the wounded, going from one to the next, as Andronicus had ordered him to do. The sound of steel piercing flesh cut through the air, as McCloud raised his lance high and leaned down on his horse and stabbed one wounded after the next, all his former people.

Andronicus smiled, taking it all in. There was nothing he loved more than a field of carnage. McCloud was totally in his power now, and he just loved watching someone torture his own people.

The ground was littered with corpses as far as the eye could see, and Rafi, flanked by his two henchmen, jumped from one to the next, as quick as light, kneeling and sinking his fangs into their throats, drinking until their blood dried out. He lay hunched over one now, his body quivering with delight as he gorged and gorged. He would be full tonight.

Finally, the tide had turned in Andronicus’ favor. Nothing could stop him now.

Thor followed as they rode, father and son together, dozens of generals behind them. They rode to the very highest point of the city, at the edge of the mountains, and as they reached it, they stopped and looked down. Spread out below them, as far as the eye could see, sat the Western Kingdom of the Ring. Cutting through it was a wide road, disappearing into the horizon, the main road to Silesia. Andronicus could not wait to lead his army down that road. He was particularly excited to watch Thornicus kill his own people; nothing would give him greater joy.

But it had been a long day of battle, and with the sun setting, Andronicus decided it would be best to camp here for the night, and march in the morning.

“I have been looking for you everywhere,” came a woman’s voice.

Andronicus spun to see that annoying McCloud girl appear before him, Luanda.

He turned and frowned at her.

“Have you?” he asked.

“We will be entering the Western Kingdom soon. My territory. You promised, in return for me bringing you Thor, that it would be mine. Now that the battle has settled, I have come to make sure you make all the proper arrangements to secure me King’s Court and make me queen.”

Andronicus stared back, in shock at her audacity. Then, finally, he threw his head back and roared with laughter. He could not stop laughing, especially as her haughty expression changed to one of bafflement, then to embarrassment.

Luanda frowned.

“And what is so funny?” she asked. “Remember, you are addressing the daughter of a King, soon to be Queen.”

Andronicus dismounted from his horse, and walked slowly towards her, the air thick with tension. He came up beside her, grabbed her by the shirt with one hand, and with one motion threw her from her horse.

Luanda screamed as she fell through the air, rolling to the ground covered in dust and dirt.

Andronicus reached down, grabbed her by her hair and tore a big clump from her head.

Luanda shrieked, and Andronicus raised the clump of hair high overhead, smiling.

“You’re lucky your head is too small,” he said, “or I would add it to my necklace.”

Andronicus turned to his men.

“Bind her, shave off the rest of her hair, and parade her through the camp for the entertainment of the men.”

Luanda screamed, shaking.

“NO! You can’t do this! You promised! You promised !”

They dragged her away, kicking and screaming, and Andronicus watched in delight.

No sooner had she left his view then there appeared before him that traitorous MacGil, Tirus. He approached Andronicus, his four sons beside him and dozens of soldiers in tow.

Tirus, at least, had the good sense to dismount, take a knee, and bow down to the ground before addressing the Great Andronicus, as did his sons.

“And what news do you bring me?” Andronicus asked. “Are Kendrick, Erec, Bronson, and Srog all detained? Have you executed them yet?”

Tirus cleared his throat as he looked up, flustered.

“My Lord, I have delivered them all to you as promised, and your men have won the battle. But I am afraid I bear bad news.”

“News?” Andronicus asked. He did not like the sound of this.

“Well…” Tirus began, “somehow…um…well…. They were our prisoners, but somehow…they escaped in the night. I’m sorry. I don’t know how it happened.”

Andronicus grimaced; he could feel a mounting fury rise up within him.

“Don’t know how it happened?” he asked, incredulous.

“My liege,” said the Empire commander, who came and knelt before him. “My men reported that they witnessed the MacGil leaders being freed in the night—by one of Tirus’ sons.”

Andronicus turned his gaze down to Tirus’ four sons, kneeling there, all ashen with fear.

“It is not true, my lord!” Tirus yelled out. “My boys would never do such a thing!”