Morgan Rice - A Grant of Arms

“I’m not you,” Reece replied.

Indra came and stood over him.

“Leave him here, if he wants,” she said coldly. “I, for one, can do without him.”

“No one gets left behind,” Reece repeated.

“Do you forget how he has acted? He has defied us at every turn,” she said. “Not to mention he will slow us down and get in our way.”

“No one,” Reece repeated emphatically. “I don’t care who they are or what they’ve done. It is not about them; it is about us. Our code of honor. If we lose that, we lose all.”

Indra relented as the group fell silent, looking down at Krog.

“Well, I won’t go on,” Krog said, writhing. “I can’t.”

“It’s a nasty wound, is it?” Centra asked, coming over.

He pushed Reece aside and kneeled before Krog. He pulled back the cloth on Krog’s calf, revealing a deep, black, festering wound, left from the impact of the tree. He recoiled.

“Nasty indeed,” Centra said. “He’ll be dead in a day at this rate. You should have told me. All he needs is Sulfur Mud. It won’t heal him entirely, but it will take away the pain and will make it much better. Get him to his feet, and follow me.”

“Is it out of the way?” Indra asked.

“Not by much,” Centra said, looking back and forth between Reece and Indra, unsure.

“Take us there,” Reece ordered.

They followed Centra as he changed direction, weaving in and out of the trees, up and down rolling hills, until finally they arrived at a large mound of bubbling mud. It was hissing, and a mist was rising from it.

Centra stepped close, reached over, grabbed a scoop of mud, and applied it as a balm on Krog’s leg.

Krog immediately perked up. His eyes opened wide in surprise, and within moments, he went from being slumped over between the others to standing upright on his own. He even took a step on his own. Then another. He was limping, but he was walking. And judging from the smile on his face, he was no longer in pain.

“How did you do that?” Krog asked.

“The mud won’t last long,” Centra said. “But long enough to get you out of here. When its effects wear off, you’ll be worse than before. Let’s just hope we can find this Sword and get you all out of here quickly.”

They all turned and followed Centra as he weaved back in and out of the mud hills, picking up his old trail.

As Reece walked, Krog walked up beside him, limping.

“You helped me,” Krog said. “Why?”

“Why?” Reece asked. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re a strange one,” Krog said. “I’m not sure if I like you or not. I wish you would have left me back there. Then it would have been easier to hate you.”

Reece furrowed his brow, confused.

“Are you trying to thank me?” Reece asked.

“I guess in my own way, I am,” Krog said. “But that doesn’t mean I like you.”

Reece shook his head, not understanding Krog’s way of thought at all.

“Well, you’re welcome,” Reece said, ending their odd conversation.

Reece saw the darkening sky all around them and began to worry. What would happen if they had to make camp down here? Would they be able to track down the Faws in the dark?

“It’s just beyond that hill!” Centra called out excitedly.

They all turned and looked.

“You can hear the buzzing from here,” Centra continued. “That’s the main camp of the Faws. And that’s where they took the Sword. See the trail?”

They all crowded around, and Reece indeed saw the trail, rising up the hill of mud. He heard the buzzing, too. It sounded like an endless swarm of bees.

“But I tell you, it makes no sense to try to breach their territory,” Centra continued. “They have many tricks. They don’t fight fairly. You cannot win.”

“We will fight any foe who stands in our way,” Reece said confidently. “If you are concerned, you can leave us now. And we thank you for your help.”

Centra shook his head.

“Foolish to the last,” he said. He smiled. “That’s what I like to hear. Finally, someone as crazy as me. Follow me.”

They all followed Centra up the large hill, each of them slipping and sliding as they went, Reece’s palms covered in mud. Just as they were out of breath, Reece’s stomach aching from the effort and from lack of food, they reached the top.

Reece stood there with the others and looked down at the sight before him in wonder. Below, in a broad valley of mud, was the camp of the Faws. There were thousands of them, short and skinny orange creatures, perhaps three feet high, with three long, skinny fingers and bright green eyes. Their faces were shaped in wide smiles, their jagged teeth showing. They milled about quickly, all busy, carrying things with their hands, like a worker mill of ants.

Their village was populated with small, primitive huts, made of the leaves of these strange trees, orange and turquoise. In the center of their village was a hole in the earth, perhaps ten yards in diameter, and inside it, bubbling up, was molten fire. It hissed and bubbled ominously, illuminating the whole village. Clearly their entire village revolved around this strange hole of molten fire.

“What is it?” Reece asked.

“They worship it,” Centra said. “They are the people of the lava. They believe that is why their skin is orange. They pray to the lava as if it were a god. Every day they sacrifice another person in it. It’s their favorite way to kill their enemies.”

Reece looked closely, and there, atop a large mound, near the lava, sat the boulder. Dozens of Faws knelt around it, humming and praying, bowing to it. They hummed and worshipped it, as if it were a god. And there sat the Sword, lodged in it, shining.

Reece’s heart quickened as he saw it.

“Our Sword,” he gasped.

“You waste your energy to look at it,” Centra said. “It’s as gone from you as if it were in another world. You’ll never get it back. Once the Faws have something, it is theirs.”

Centra turned to Reece and grasped his wrist, his expression earnest.

“I tell you, turn back now.”

There came the sudden ring of a sword being drawn, and Reece turned to see Conven, standing there, sword in hand, staring down at the village defiantly.

Reece turned and looked at Centra.

“We turn back for no one, my friend.”

Reece drew his sword, too, and as soon as he did, suddenly, everything changed.

There came the sound of gushing water, and Reece felt his feet wobble, as he looked down.

“MUDSLIDE!” Centra yelled, the first to react, diving to jump out of the way.

But he was not quick enough.

Reece felt his legs being knocked out from under him, and he screamed, as did all the others, as they were suddenly caught up in a great gushing river of mud, sending them flying down the hill, straight down into the village, faster than he could react—and right toward the Faws.

As Reece looked straight ahead, he saw dozens of Faws appear, carrying a huge net. It was then that Reece realized that they had started the mudslide, that they had been watching them the whole time, that he had walked right into a trap. And that he had underestimated the enemy. He should have listened to Centra all along.

It was too late now. He went sliding at full speed with the others, right into the center of the camp, and braced himself as the huge net swallowed them all.

Thor lunged for Andronicus, sword drawn, aiming to kill him.

Andronicus’ eyes opened wide in surprise; clearly he had not been expecting this from his son. Yet his reflexes kicked in, and as Thor charged, Andronicus dodged, stepping out of the way right before the sword could impale him.

Thorgrin continued charging, right into the crowd of unsuspecting Empire soldiers, killing them left and right with a great battle cry. He slashed and stabbed one after the other, and soon, the bodies piled up, and soldiers ran to get out of his way.