Morgan Rice - A Grant of Arms

Finally, Romulus gained the upper hand, rolling and throwing Thor off him. He pulled a dagger from his waist, and aimed it for Thor’s throat; it all happened too quickly for Thor to react.

Andronicus appeared and knocked the blade from Romulus’ hand before it could hurt Thor, saving his life.

Andronicus then swung for Romulus’ head with his axe; but Romulus rolled out of the way, and the axe lodged instead in the mud.

A horn sounded, and the sky darkened with arrows. Romulus’ men fell left and right, screaming out in pain, scores of them felled by arrows as Andronicus’ reinforcements arrived. The tide of the battle had turned.

Romulus’ men began to retreat. Romulus, seeing what was happening, no longer challenged Andronicus; instead, he ducked throughout the crowd, found his horse, kicked hard, and turn and fled with his remaining men.

Andronicus saw Thor on the ground, realized he had been saved by him once again, and his heart welled with gratitude. He reached a hand down to pull up his son.

Thornicus took his father’s hand, realizing his father had saved his life, too. They stood there, clasping hands, father and son, each sacrificing their lives for the other. Andronicus looked down at Thor with respect, and Thor returned it. Finally, Thor had found the father he had always craved in life.

Romulus charged with his fleeing men, downhill, away from Highlandia, infuriated. He was shocked at his defeat. He had never lost a battle before, and he could not reconcile it. He had overreached. He should have stuck to his original plan to find a MacGil, cross the Canyon, and attack with his full army; instead, he went for the quick and hasty kill. He had become too emboldened, too confident. He had made the mistake of an amateur commander, and he hated himself for it.

Romulus had experienced multiple failures. His initial plot had been to send an assassin to kill Andronicus in the night, and somehow that had failed. His second plot had been to rally his men at dawn, to use his newfound momentum to come upon Andronicus unaware, and to take a quick stab at murdering him. He knew he’d be outnumbered, but he thought, if only he could kill him quickly, then it wouldn’t matter; all the remaining Empire men would of course rally under his command at once.

In retrospect, it was a hasty and rash decision, and he should have waited. He should have lowered the Shield first, and then attacked in force. There were no shortcuts to victory.

Romulus kept replaying in his mind how close he had come, and that was what upset him most. He’d almost had Andronicus and surely would have killed him if it had not been for Thornicus. He had not expected Thornicus to be there, by Andronicus’ side, and had not expected such a lethal adversary. Andronicus would be dead right now if it weren’t for him. When all this settled down, Romulus vowed to kill Thor himself. The idea of that cheered him up: he would kill father and son together. At least he had escaped, unlike many of his men.

Now he rode towards his second objective. On the ride across the Ring, Romulus had slaughtered and tortured many soldiers along the way, for the fun of it. He had also interrogated them, and had learned of the MacGil who had been captured by Andronicus: Luanda. MacGil’s firstborn daughter. She would do perfectly.

Romulus rode now to where the soldiers had told him she would be, on the outskirts of the camp. He was ready to execute his backup plan. He rode hard, and finally reached it; he went to the stocks and found the lone girl bound to a post, her hair shaved off. That was her: Luanda, half-dressed, bruised and beaten, a bloody mess. She was tied to the post, barely conscious, and Romulus did not even slow his horse as he galloped right towards her.

He raised his great axe high and chopped off her ropes, then with his other hand he reached down and grabbed her roughly by the shirt, and in one motion hoisted her onto the front of his horse.

Luanda, panic-stricken, screamed, struggling to get away.

But Romulus did not give her the chance. He reached over with his huge arm and wrapped it entirely around her body, firmly, squeezing her tightly against him. The feel of her in his arms felt good. If he did not need her to bring across the bridge, he might have his way with her now, then kill her on the spot. But he needed her to lower the Shield, and there was little time to waste.

Romulus kicked his horse and rode twice as fast, forking away from his men, taking the lone road that headed to the Canyon. When he was done with her, he could always kill her then, just for fun.

Romulus rode with a smile, and the more Luanda screamed, fighting and protesting, the more he smiled. He had his prize. Soon they would be at the bridge, over the crossing.

Finally, the shield would be lowered. His army would invade. And the Ring would be his for all time.

Reece lay on the ground at the base of the Canyon, ribs aching, and looked up as the razor-sharp teeth of the beast plunged down to kill him. He knew that in moments, those teeth would sink into his chest and tear out his heart. He braced himself for the agony to come.

There came an awful shriek, and at first Reece was sure it was his own.

Then he opened his eyes and realized it was the shriek of the beast, an awful scream, piercing the air and rising up to the heavens. The beast leaned back its head and roared and roared, flailing its arms wildly. Then suddenly, it became very still, keeled over, and lay perfectly still.

Dead.

The world, once again, was still.

Reece sat up, eyes wide with wonder, trying to comprehend what had just happened. How had this beast, which had injured them all, suddenly died?

Reece noticed a spear sticking through the right foot of the beast, embedded in the ground. There, standing over the beast, wielding the spear with a self-satisfied grin, stood a stranger. He was tall and thin, with a short beard, wearing rags, with long, shaggy hair. He was skinny, perhaps in his late forties, and he smiled infectiously.

“You always kill a lombok through its foot,” he explained, as if it were the most obvious thing, extracting his spear out of the ground. “That’s where its heart is. Didn’t you ever learn that?”

The stranger stepped forward, held out a palm, and Reece grabbed it and let him pull him to his feet. The man, though skinny, was surprisingly strong.

Reece looked back, still stunned, hardly knowing how to react. This man had just saved his life.

“I…um…” he stammered. “I…don’t know how to thank you.”

“Thank me?” the man repeated. He leaned back and laughed, then clasped a warm hand on Reece’s shoulder, friendly, turning and walking with him. “There’s nothing to thank me for, good friend. I hate lomboks. They take my traps every time and leave me hungry every other night. No, thank me not at all. You did me a favor. You got it out in the open, and made it an easy kill.”

The man surveyed Reece’s group, and shook his head.

“Such a shame. All fine warriors. You were just aiming for the wrong spot.”

“Who are you?” O’Connor asked, coming over. “Where do you hail from? What are you doing down here?”

The man laughed heartily.

“I am Centra. Pleased to meet you all, but I can’t answer so many questions at once. I came down here many years ago—just curious, I guess. I couldn’t stand living under the thumb of the McClouds. I used a series of ropes to scale down the Canyon wall, and I never came back up. Out of choice. At first I was just exploring, but I grew to like it down here, all to myself. Exotic. Do you know what I mean? I’m a loner, so I don’t mind not having the company. But I must say, you’re the first human faces I’ve seen since, and it feels good to see my people. To strength!”