Morgan Rice - A Grant of Arms

“So now what?” O’Connor asked aloud the question burning on all of their minds, searching the exotic landscape for any signs of the Sword.

“We can’t just wander down here forever,” Serna said. “We have no idea where the Sword went.”

“Think about it,” Reece said, “it can’t be far off. We scaled down the Canyon wall right at the base of the bridge—and the boulder plunged straight down beneath the bridge. As long as we stick closely to this area under the bridge crossing, we must run into it. All we have to do is traverse the Canyon from one side to the other.”

“But I can’t even see the bridge from here, can you?” Elden asked.

Reece looked up, as did the others, and through the swirling mists there was no longer any sign of the bridge.

“You’re assuming that we climbed straight down,” Indra said to Reece. “We didn’t. We climbed down erratically, following footholds. We may not be under the bridge at all.”

Reece felt a pit in his stomach as they continued, wondering if she was right. Perhaps his plan was a bad one, and they were farther from finding the Sword than he thought.

As they continued marching, slogging through the mud, there came a sudden, fierce roar, making the hair stand up on Reece’s back. They all stopped in their tracks. They clutched the hilts of their swords, looking at each other, eyes open wide with fear.

“What was that?” Serna called out.

“Looks like we’re not alone,” Indra said, the first to draw her sword. The sound of metal rang through the air with a distinctive clang.

The roar came again, shaking the ground with a great tremor. Reece’s apprehension deepened; it sounded enormous, and very upset.

“Whatever it is,” Elden observed, “it sounds like our weapons are not going to do us much good.”

The roar came a third time, and they all took a step back, in different directions; they could not tell from which direction it was coming. They turned every which way, forming a loose circle.

As Reece watched the mist, there slowly emerged a huge, hideous beast. It was bright red, covered in thick scales, and stood on two feet, thirty feet tall, muscles bulging. Its long arms ended in snapping claws, like lobster claws, and its head was all mouth, one huge set of jaws, opening and closing, revealing rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth.

It leaned back its head and roared, its narrow eyes squinting in fury, and a long tongue protruded several feet from its mouth, then retracted.

Reece looked up in terror, and saw the others were panicked, too. He drew his sword, as did Elden, letting go of Krog, who stumbled, then sank to his knees. The others all drew their swords, too, while O’Connor drew his bow.

“It does not seem happy,” Indra said wryly.

The beast roared again, took several steps forward, and faster than Reece could imagine, swung down one arm, smacking Reece in the ribs and sending him airborne. He went flying through the air, crashing into a tree, taking out its branches, and tumbling end over end as he slammed down to the muddy ground. Reece rolled to his side, ribs hurting, head ringing, and turned and looked back.

The monster was on a rampage, charging for the others with fury. O’Connor, to his credit, stood firm, managing to pull back his bow and fire several shots.

But the arrows bounced harmlessly off the beast’s scales and fell to the ground. The beast then reached out with its powerful claws and snapped O’Connor’s bow in half. With its other claw, the beast aimed to slice O’Connor in two. O’Connor dodged out of the way—but not quickly enough. The beast sliced his arm, making him scream out in pain as blood went everywhere.

Indra did not back down either: she reached back and threw a dagger at the beast’s head. Her aim was true, but the dagger merely bounced off the beast’s head, which seemed to be made of some sort of armor. It turned and shrieked and came right for her, its claws opened wide, as it went to bite off her hand.

Elden rushed forward, raising his ax, and chopped the beast’s wrist with all his might. The blow was strong enough to sway the claw, but its scales were so tough, even Elden’s great axe blow could not sever it. Elden only exposed himself to the wrath of the beast. It spun and backhanded him, smashing him in his nose and breaking it as Elden screamed out and landed flat on his back.

The beast, not satisfied, brought its other claw down, right for the exposed Elden.

Conven let out a battle cry, charged forward with his sword, and plunged it into the beast’s stomach. But the sword barely scratched it, and the beast swung around, opened its jaw, and clamped down on the sword, snapping it in two like a matchstick.

Reece shook off his blow, gained his feet, and sprinted for the beast, this time aiming for its exposed back. As it brought its claws down for Conven, about to sink them into his chest, Reece jumped onto the beast’s back, and sunk his sword right into its spine.

Finally, Reece found a soft spot. The sword sunk in, up to the hilt, and the beast shrieked an awful sound. It reached back, grabbed Reece with its claw, picked him up high above his head, and threw him through the air.

Reece went flying again, hurling end over end so fast he could hardly breathe and smashed face-first into the mud. He was winded and felt as if he’d cracked a rib.

Reece turned around, and looked up, bleary-eyed, as the beast approached him. He watched, helpless, as it raised its foot high and prepared to stop him to death. He saw the razor-sharp claws on the sole of its foot, saw all of his friends knocked out, unable to move, and as he watched the claws coming down right for his face, he knew that in moments, his life would be over.

His final thought was: what an awful place to die .

Thornicus sat on a small boat, drifting alone at sea, in unfamiliar territory. He looked all around, searching for anything familiar, but the landscape was utterly foreign. He felt that he was far from home, on the other side of the world, and that he would never go back. He had never felt so alone in his life.

Thor leaned over the bow and looked down into the waters, and as he did, he saw a face staring back at him.

But it was not his face; instead, it was the face of his father.

Andronicus.

“Thornicus,” came a voice.

Thor leaned back and looked up into the sun, as it broke through behind the clouds. He squinted and saw before him a huge cliff and at its peak, a castle, the sun shining behind it. A stone footbridge arched high in the sky, leading to it, twisting and turning, narrow. Thor reached up for it, but felt as if it were a world away.

“Thorgrin, come to me,” came the woman’s voice.

Thor raised one hand to the sun and saw, standing at the edge of the cliff, a woman, around which glowed a violet light. She held her hands out, palms at her sides, and he could feel her summoning him. He knew it was his mother.

“Mother,” he said, standing, reaching out a hand for her, trying to make it.

“Thorgrin,” she answered. “You are my son, too. It is up to you to claim your lineage. You can choose your father—or you can choose me. You are both of us. Don’t forget. Neither one of us is stronger than the other. You have the power to choose. You don’t have to choose your father. You are not your father. And you are not me. Come home. Come to your true home. I await you.”

Thor tried to stand, but he felt himself stuck; he looked down and saw his legs were shackled, bound to the boat.

“Mother,” he called out, his throat dry, his voice raspy. “I can’t. I can’t break free. Help me.”

“Try,” she said. “You have the strength. Do not be deceived: you have the strength.”