Morgan Rice - A Grant of Arms

Chaos ensued in the camp. Empire soldiers, confused, rushed to grab weapons, to don armor, to counter-attack. But they were no match for Thor. Thor was a thing of beauty, a one-man killing machine.

“KILL HIM!” Rafi screamed to Andronicus. “Why do you just stand there?”

But Andronicus stood there, frozen, loath to kill his son. For the first time in his life, he was unsure what to do.

Rafi, grunting in frustration, stepped forward himself. He threw back his hood, reached out, and raised both palms for Thorgrin.

A scarlet light shot from his hand and swirled around Thor, embracing him. Rafi screamed, shaking his hands violently, and the light grew thicker and thicker.

Finally, Thor, immersed in the circle of light, slowed down his killing, then stopped and sank to his knees. He reached up for his head, screaming, then slumped down and lay there, unconscious.

Andronicus came and stood over him, Rafi beside him. Despite everything, it pained him to see his son lying there.

“You kept him alive?” Andronicus asked. It was more of a warning than a question.

“Reluctantly,” Rafi answered.

“Is he back on our side?” Andronicus asked, hopefully.

“For now,” Rafi said. “There was a lapse in his will. He has a very strong will, stronger than I have ever encountered. I don’t know how long I can control him. It is dangerous to keep him alive. I have told you this already. You must kill him now.”

Andronicus shook his head.

“He is back to our side,” he said, “he will not lapse again.”

Rafi scowled.

“Your weakness for your son is going to get us all killed. I warn you: if you do not kill him yourself, then someday, I will.”

Andronicus turned to Rafi and reddened.

“I care not what power you wield,” he said. “Speak to me this way again, and I myself will cast you down to the lowest ring of hell.”

Rafi turned and stormed off.

Andronicus, riled, stood over his son, looked down at him and wondered. Was Thor’s love for him real? Or was it due to Rafi’s spell?

“Shall we shackle him, my lord?” an Empire general asked, coming up, holding shackles.

Andronicus shoved the general hard in the chest, knocking him back.

“Kill him,” Andronicus ordered, pointing to the general.

Several Empire soldiers came running over and dragged away the Empire general, who stared back, confused.

Andronicus knelt down, picked up his son, and carried him gently in his arms.

“It is okay, Thornicus,” he said softly, as he carried him off. “You are with your father again now.”

Andronicus would carry him to the finest tent and give him the finest sleeping quarters. He was certain Rafi’s spell would hold this time. Tomorrow would be the final battle with Thor’s people, and Andronicus needed him. Once Thor had killed his own, Andronicus was certain, there would be no turning back.

Thor would be his forever.

Kendrick raised his shield and dropped to one knee, as blow after blow rained down upon him. He stood in the thick of the battle, completely surrounded by Empire men, three of them, large brutes, charging at him, and slamming down at his shield with their battle axes and hammers. The ring of metal reverberated in his ears, and his wrists were bruised as he held back the blows, pouring down, one after the other. They were fierce, and his arms shook.

Kendrick defeated many combatants here today, but his men were too outnumbered by the fresh Empire reinforcements. At this point, he was just holding on for dear life; he barely had the strength to parry. He knew he would not be able to last much longer.

Not far away, Erec, Bronson, and Srog fought brilliantly, too, yet they were in the same predicament: all of them were getting tired, increasingly surrounded by Empire men, unable to gather momentum and fight back. They were now all just defending, fighting for survival.

All around Kendrick men were beginning to fall, their screams ringing out, MacGils, Silver, Silesians, and McClouds. The tide of battle had turned against them, and Kendrick momentarily closed his eyes, sweat dripping into them, and felt his moments were numbered. He knew he should be grateful: he had, at least, got his wish: he would die fighting, on his feet, as a true warrior, defending his homeland. It would be a noble death, one that any warrior would wish for.

As Kendrick held back the blows, he thought he heard a distant noise; at first he thought he was imagining it. It sounded like a distant rumbling, like a herd of horses charging.

Soon, it grew more intense. The ground began to tremble, then to shake. And then, there came the screams of men. But not his men—Empire men. All around him, Empire soldiers began to turn and flee. Soon, the blows stopped raining down on Kendrick, as the men fighting him turned and ran.

Kendrick was confused. He turned to see what the commotion was, and as he looked up at the mountainside, he saw a sight that he would never forget for as long as he lived. He blinked several times, trying to comprehend it.

There, charging down the steep mountainside, were at least a thousand bulls, huge red animals, racing down, livid with rage, and heading right into the thick of Empire soldiers. They gored men left and right with their horns, and the battlefield turned red with blood. All of the Empire soldiers on the outskirts of the battlefield, to their bad fortune, were killed by the animals.

Yet still more animals charged down, a never-ending stream, trampling men, rushing deeper and deeper into the field of battle, trampling as many soldiers as they could. Some of his own men fell, too, but, being so outnumbered, it was mostly Empire.

Kendrick could hardly believe it: of all the crazy things he had seen in battle, this had to be the craziest. They had all been given a second chance.

As Kendrick looked up into the rising second sun, he saw another sight which astounded him, even more so: there, leading the charge of thousands of soldiers, was none other than his younger brother, Godfrey, flanked by Akorth and Fulton. They rode clumsily, like warriors unused to battle, yet still they rode, racing down the slope, following the bulls, and bringing thousands of men with them.

Kendrick smiled wide. His brother had arrived after all.

This was the opportunity Kendrick had been waiting for, and he was determined to seize it. Kendrick, along with Erec, Bronson, and Srog, turned and charged for the Empire, reinvigorated, screaming a great battle cry.

Behind him his men rallied, the tide of battle changing yet again, as they all rushed forward into the thick of the fleeing Empire soldiers and fought back, killing hundreds, while doing their best to dodge the bulls. Godfrey’s men joined the fray, and they all fought together, pushing back the Empire men.

They chased them all the way through the valley, slaughtering men left and right. Soon, they had managed to even the odds, no longer so outnumbered as they were before. Before long they were clearly winning, outnumbering even the remaining Empire men.

Kendrick’s heart pounded with joy as he realized they were going to win this battle after all, thanks to Godfrey and his bulls. He shook his head as he fought, smiling to himself. Leave it up to his younger brother to find some crafty way to win this war.

As they chased the Empire men around a bend, finishing off the remnants, a new vista opened up, and Kendrick suddenly stopped short, along with all the others, at what he saw.

There, on the horizon, riding to face them in battle, was yet another division of Empire men. Many thousands more than Kendrick had.

Yet that was not what deterred him. What made him stop, made him freeze in his tracks, was the person leading the charge.