Morgan Rice - A Grant of Arms

“But is Andronicus himself inside?” Srog asked. “And how many men with him?”

They all surveyed it. It was hard to tell.

“It could be risky,” Bronson said. “‘Perhaps it would be better to hide out here in the mountains, and wait for a smaller group to attack, or a smaller city.”

Kendrick shook his head.

“No more waiting,” he said. “Any day could be our last. Never again will I subject myself to imprisonment by anyone. If we are to die, we will die on our feet. We attack now!”

“I am with you!” Erec said, drawing his sword.

“And I!” Bronson said.

“So be it!” Srog said.

They all kicked their horses and charged along the edge of the Highlands, weaving in and out of the steep mountain trails, racing towards Highlandia. In the breaking dawn, with most Empire troops still sleeping, perhaps they would have the advantage of surprise, Kendrick thought. Perhaps they could take this city, and make it a stronghold of their own. Maybe, if they could wait long enough, Gwendolyn would return, with Argon. And maybe, just maybe, the tide could turn in their favor.

Even if not, this was what they were born to do: to attack against the odds, to never cower from the enemy, to fight for the right cause, even when the odds seemed impossible. Kendrick had been given a great privilege in his life: he had been given a grant of arms. They all had. And he intended to use it, as long as he was still alive.

An Empire horn sounded, then another, then another, all along the parapets of the small castle of Highlandia. Suddenly, the tall, iron portcullis opened, and hundreds of Empire soldiers appeared, charging right for them. They were not sleeping: they had been ready and waiting.

Nonetheless, Kendrick let out a great battle cry of his own and charged harder, prepared to fight, to kill anyone who dared stand in his way.

But as he got closer, as the Empire soldiers came into view, he saw a face charge through the gate, a face that made his blood run cold. It was the only face that could make him lower his sword, make his mouth drop open in shock, and make him nearly fall off his mount.

There, facing him, riding out to meet him, sword raised high, was a man he loved like a brother.

There was Thorgrin.

Thornicus rode beside his father, Rafi and McCloud behind them, as they led thousands of Empire soldiers out the gates of Highlandia, prepared to crush the enemy. Thor looked out and saw riding towards them thousands of soldiers, dressed in an armor and waving a banner that he dimly recognized. As they neared, a part of him recognized it as the armor he once knew, the armor of the Western Kingdom of the ring, of the Silver, of the MacGils. Thor was momentarily confused; he wondered why he was attacking these people he had once fought with side-by-side.

But his mind just as quickly became clouded, and another part of him, a stronger part, reminded him that he was riding to crush the enemies of his father, riding to kill those who would kill his father first. Thornicus felt infused with a new energy, determined to kill them all, to prevent anyone from harming Andronicus, or the Empire.

He charged towards the MacGil soldiers, still perhaps a half-mile away, drawing his sword, leading the army, getting ready to attack with all he had.

But suddenly, a chorus of horns sounded out behind him, and Andronicus and the others turned and checked back over their shoulders. Thor did, too. It was a sound of distress, and as Thor turned, he was confused by what he saw: hundreds of Empire soldiers were turning around, and charging in the reverse direction. Beyond them, in the distance, thousands of Empire soldiers, of a different division, charged up the ridge for Highlandia, torches in hand, and began to set fire to the city.

“What’s happening, my master?” McCloud called out to Andronicus, as confused as the rest of them.

Andronicus looked confused himself; but then, as he watched the horizon, his eyes narrowed in recognition.

“Romulus,” he said knowingly. “My general has come to betray me.”

Thousands of Empire troops attacked them from the rear, flooding the city. Now they were sandwiched between two armies, Romulus’ men behind them and the MacGil soldiers before them.

Andronicus screamed out in frustration, debating, then finally turned his horse around.

“We must save Highlandia!” Andronicus shouted. “Abandon the MacGils! Attack Romulus!”

Andronicus kicked his horse, turning around sharply, and Thornicus and the others followed, preparing to engage the Empire soldiers in a civil war.

As he turned around, Thornicus glanced back over his shoulder, and in the distance, he saw the MacGils continue to charge, for Highlandia. But that was no longer Thor’s concern; he had to do his father’s bidding. They could fight the MacGils another day.

Thor rode with his father, and he held his sword high. He and Andronicus rode side-by-side, and it felt good to ride with him. They were in unison, together in battle, prepared to face the world together, as father and son should.

The two of them charged down the slope, aiming for Romulus’ men, and they all met halfway, in a great clash of arms. Thousands of warriors rushed headlong into each other; leading the fray, the first into battle, was Andronicus. He raised his great battle axe, swung it in the air, and met Romulus as he charged for his former leader. Romulus swung his axe, too, and the two of them locked, like rams, each as powerful as the other, each wanting to kill the other with all his heart.

Thor aimed for Romulus’ commander, and the commander raised his shield, but it did little good: Thor’s blow was so strong, it sliced the shield in half. The commander raised his sword to slash back, but Thor was too fast. He kept charging, and with another blow, slashed the man across the stomach, making him slump forward, face-first into the dirt.

The sound of clashing metal filled Thor’s ears as all around them, thousands of soldiers fought hand to hand. None fought so deftly as Thor. He slashed and parried and ducked and weaved in every direction, taking down dozens of men before they could move quickly enough to react to him. He cut through the men like a one-man army, felling soldiers left and right, and pushing the stalemate in favor of Andronicus.

Due to Thor’s efforts, the tide began to turn between the two equally matched divisions. Romulus initially had the advantage of surprise and momentum, since no Empire men had expected to be fighting each other on this day. But Thor tipped the odds, single-handedly pushing back more and more of Romulus’ men as they poured in to try to take Highlandia.

Romulus and Andronicus went blow for blow, cracking their great battle axes into each other with a shrill clang of metal, like two old rams battling for power. Andronicus was much taller than Romulus, but Romulus was wide and had strength unlike any Thor had ever seen. They were a spectacle to watch, like two mountains, neither seeming able to give into the other.

A wounded soldier fell onto the back on Andronicus’ horse, and Andronicus’ horse pranced, off-balance; the loss of balance was just enough to give Romulus a slight advantage. Andronicus’ axe lowered momentarily, just enough for Romulus to land a blow, slicing him hard on the shoulder, and knocking Andronicus off his horse.

Romulus wasted no time: he dismounted, raised his axe high with both hands and prepared to bring it down on Andronicus’ exposed head.

Thor’s heart fell; he dove off his horse face-first, and tackled Romulus down to the ground, right before Romulus could land the deadly blow. They stumbled back several feet, and the two fell and wrestled in the mud, rolling again and again, soldiers dying all around them.