Morgan Rice - A Grant of Arms

There, below, were Kendrick, Erec, Bronson, and Srog, with thousands of Silver and MacGils and Silesians and McClouds, all surrounded by the Empire and fighting for their lives. They were completely engulfed by Empire men, and thousands more poured in.

Godfrey sat there on his horse, breathing hard, paralyzed with fear. He was terrified. All the men he loved were about to be killed before his eyes, and what remained of their armies wiped out.

“Sire, now what?” his general asked. “We cannot attack. We are vastly outnumbered. It would be suicide.”

“Let’s retreat,” Akorth said.

Fulton nodded vigorously.

“I agree. Let’s save our own lives. We can’t help them anyway.”

But Godfrey would not be swayed; the old Godfrey might have cowered and slunk away. But not anymore. Now he was determined.

Godfrey looked around eagerly, desperate to figure out a way to help. He couldn’t let his brother die out there; yet he also didn’t want to charge into a certain death. He was desperate to find another solution.

Come on .

Godfrey summoned his wit, every ounce of his intelligence. He’d always had a knack for finding another way when others could not, for taking a step back and getting a bird’s-eye view of a situation, and coming up with a solution that no one else thought of. As he studied the peaks of the Highlands, up and down, suddenly, he spotted something.

His heart raced, as suddenly, he got an idea.

Godfrey pointed.

“There!” he yelled.

Akorth and Fulton followed his finger, baffled.

“There what?” Akorth asked.

“What are you pointing to?” Fulton asked. “A rock?”

Godfrey shook his head, annoyed.

“ There !” he said more firmly, pointing. “On that ridge!”

Akorth and Fulton squinted.

“All I see is a ranch-hand, my lord,” his general said, “and a herd of bulls.”

Godfrey smiled.

“Exactly,” he replied.

Godfrey looked down the hillside to the battlefield, then looked back to the bulls at the peak.

“You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?” Akorth asked Godfrey.

“There must be at least a thousand bulls there,” Godfrey said. “A number of them look unhappy. They are anxious to be set free. And I intend to help them.”

Godfrey looked back down at the battlefield below, the steep slope, and figured if he could set loose these bulls, if he could get them to charge down, in a rage, into the mayhem, there was no limit to the damage and confusion they would cause. It would be an enormous distraction. And that was exactly what Kendrick and his men needed at this moment.

“Madness!” the general said. “A crazy scheme. One for dreaming boys—not for military commanders!”

Godfrey turned to his general.

“I would take a dreaming boy over a military commander any day. CHARGE!” he screamed to his men.

Godfrey drew his sword and screamed as he charged, racing for the herd of bulls, sword held high, prepared to send them as his emissaries into the field of battle.

Reece, O’Connor, Elden, Indra, Conven, Serna, and Krog followed Centra as he navigated his way quickly through the Canyon base, their feet sticking to the muddy floor as they weaved their way between the exotic trees, orange and turquoise leaves flashing amidst the muted sunlight. Reece’s feet stuck as they went, making each step an effort, and every now and again another hot spring erupted close by, spewing steam and mud into the air, small flakes of mud raining down and sticking to him. Reece’s face and skin were already caked with mud, and with a salty residue that clung to everything. He felt caked in layers, felt like he needed a bath, like he was becoming part of this mud landscape and would never return.

Strange noises filled the air, continually putting Reece on edge. He thought back to their encounter with the monster, and wondered what else could be down here. If it weren’t for Centra, surely they would be dead. Who’d ever heard of a monster with a heart in its foot? He looked about warily, his visibility limited between the trees and the mist, and he could not help but wonder what other dangers lurked here.

Reece thought back to the Sword and peered at the Canyon floor, following the ominous trail left by the Faws. The more they followed it, the more he wondered about these people, these scavengers, who had taken it. He wondered at their strength, being able to drag it, and wondered what they could want with it. More ominously, he wondered how powerful they were, given they had survived down here, amidst all these creatures.

“Perhaps these Faws, they’ll listen to reason and give us the Sword back,” O’Connor offered aloud. “After all, they know it’s not theirs.”

Centra snorted, shaking his head.

“The Faws are not exactly the type to listen to reason.”

“Maybe we can trade them something for it,” O’Connor said.

“The only thing they’d want to trade you for is your head on a stick,” Centra said.

O’Connor fell silent.

“We’re entering the far side of the Canyon,” Centra said. “Have you noticed how many more springs there are? The quakes come more frequently here, too. Have you noticed the cracks in the Canyon walls? We have minor quakes….”

Reece tried to tune Centra out. Centra had not stopped talking since they had met; clearly, this man was lonely, desperate for company. All along the way, he had filled them in on every last thing about the bottom of the Canyon, from the climate to the geography to the seasons, to all the animals and insects and peoples who lived here.

Reece was growing impatient. What he wanted to know about specifically was the tribe who had taken the Sword.

“Tell us more about the Faws,” Reece said, cutting Centra off.

Centra turned to him, as if surprised to be interrupted.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Centra sighed. He shook his head, as he continued walking quickly, following tracks that Reece could not decipher. Reece hoped that Centra knew where he was going. He felt the urgency of time; they had to get the Sword and return as soon as they could. His best friend’s life depended on it. Descending here had been far more challenging than Reece could have ever imagined.

“The Faws are the most vicious of all creatures down here. Even the monster you fought back there would stay clear of them. They are given a lot of respect, and no one enters their territory. I always stick to my side of the Canyon, and I never enter their territory when hunting.”

“Are they that fierce?” Elden asked.

“Not individually,” Centra said. “But collectively, yes. You see, they stick together, like bees, and they fight as one. That is their great strength. They are of one mind. And there are so many of them. They descend on something together, and that’s it. It’s finished.”

“They are not large and strong then?” O’Connor asked.

Centra laughed.

“No. Quite the opposite. Quite small, indeed. But do not underestimate your opponent by his appearance. Isn’t that the first law of battle?”

There came a moaning, and Reece turned and saw Krog, being carried between Elden and O’Connor, crying out in pain. He slumped down, and they lay him down in the mud. He seemed delirious.

“Leave me,” he said. “I can’t go on.”

Reece came over and knelt by his side, examining him. He was sweating profusely, and very pale. Reece leaned over and placed a hand on his head, and he was burning to the touch.

“We don’t leave anyone behind,” Reece said. “I told you that already.”

Krog scowled back.

“I would leave you if it were me,” Krog answered.