Morgan Rice: A Grant of Arms

It couldn’t have come a moment sooner. Elden’s slippery palm was sliding out of Reece’s hand, and as he began to fall back, Elden reached out and grabbed the rope. Reece held his breath, praying it held.

It did. Elden slowly pulled himself up, until finally he found a strong footing. He stood on a ledge, breathing hard, back to his old balance. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, and so did Reece. It had been too close.

They climbed and climbed, until Reece did not know how much time had passed. The sky turned darker, and Reece dripped with sweat despite the cold, feeling as if any moment could be his last. His hands and feet shook violently, and the sound of his own breathing filled his ears. He wondered how much more of this he could take. He knew that if they did not find the bottom soon, they would all have to stop and rest, especially as night fell. But the problem was, there was nowhere to stop and rest.

Reece could not help but wonder, if they all became too exhausted, if the others might just begin to fall, one at a time.

There came a great clamor of rock, and then a small avalanche, tons of pebbles raining down, landing on Reece’s head and face and eyes. His heart stopped as he heard a scream—a different one this time, a scream of death. Out of the corner of his eye he saw plummeting past him, almost faster than he could process, a body.

Reece reached out a hand to grab him, but it happened too fast. All he could do was turn and watch as he spotted Krog, airborne, flailing, shrieking, falling backward, straight down into nothingness.

Kendrick sat astride his horse, beside Erec, Bronson, and Srog, out in front of his thousands of men as he faced down Tirus and the Empire. They had walked right into a trap. They had been sold out by Tirus, and Kendrick realized now, too late, that it had been a great mistake to trust him.

Kendrick looked up and to his right, and saw ten thousand Empire soldiers high on the ridge of the valley, arrows at the ready; to his left he saw just as many. Before them stood even more. Kendrick’s few thousand men could never possibly outfight this number of soldiers. They would be slaughtered to even try. And with all those bows drawn, the slightest move would result in the massacre of his men. Geographically, being at the base of a valley, didn’t help them either. Tirus had chosen his ambush location well.

As Kendrick sat there, helpless, his face burning with rage and indignation, he stared back at Tirus, who sat up high on his horse with a self-satisfied smile. Beside him sat his four sons, and beside them, an Empire commander.

“Is money that important to you?” Kendrick asked Tirus, hardly ten feet away, his voice as cold as steel. “Would you sell your own people, your own blood?”

Tirus showed no remorse; he smiled still wider.

“Your people are not my blood, remember?” he said. “That is why I am not, according to your laws, entitled to my brother’s throne.”

Erec cleared his throat in anger.

“The MacGil laws pass the throne to the son—not to the brother.”

Tirus shook his head.

“All inconsequential now. Your laws no longer matter. Might always triumphs over law. It is those with might who dictate the law. And now as you can see, I am stronger. Which means, from now on, I write the law. Succeeding generations will remember none of your laws. All that they will remember is that I, Tirus, was King. Not you, and not your sister.”

“Thrones taken illegitimately never last,” Kendrick countered. “You may kill us; you may even convince Andronicus to grant you a throne. But you and I both know you won’t rule for long. You’ll be betrayed by the same treachery you instilled on us.”

Tirus sat there, unfazed.

“Then I shall savor those brief days on my throne while they last—and I shall applaud the man that can betray me with as much skill as I used to betray you.”

“Enough talk!” the Empire commanders yelled out. “Surrender now or your men will die!”

Kendrick stared back, furious, knowing he needed to surrender but not wanting to.

“Lay down your arms,” Tirus said calmly, his voice reassuring, “and I will treat you fairly, as one warrior to another. You shall be my prisoners of war. I may not share your laws, but I do honor the battle code of a warrior. I promise you, you shall not be harmed under my watch.”

Kendrick looked over at Bronson, at Srog, and at Erec, who glanced back at him. All of them sat there, proud warriors each, horses prancing beneath them, silent.

“Why should we trust you?” Bronson called out to Tirus. “You who have already proven that your word means nothing. I am of a mind to die here on the battlefield, just to wipe that smug smile off your face.”

Tirus turned and scowled at Bronson.

“You speak though you are not even a MacGil. You are a McCloud. You have no right interfering in MacGil business.”

Kendrick came to the defense of his friend: “Bronson is as much a MacGil now as any of us. He speaks with the voice of our men.”

Tirus gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed.

“The choice is yours. Look all about you and see our thousands of archers at the ready. You have been outwitted. If you even reach for your swords, your men will fall dead on the spot. Surely even you can see that. There are times to fight, and times to surrender. If you want to protect your men, you will do what any good commander would do. Lay down your arms.”

Kendrick clenched his jaw several times, burning up inside. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Tirus was correct. He glanced about and knew in an instant that most if not all of his men would die here if they tried to fight. As much as he wanted to fight, it would be the selfish choice; and as much as he despised Tirus, he sensed he was telling the truth and that his men would not be harmed. As long as they lived, they could always fight another day, in some other place, on some other battlefield.

Kendrick looked over at Erec, a man he had fought with countless times, the champion of the Silver, and knew he was thinking the same thing. It was different to be a leader than to be a warrior: a warrior could fight with reckless abandon, but a leader had to think of others first.

“There is a time for arms, and a time for surrender,” Erec called out. “We will take you for your word as a warrior that our men shall be unharmed, and on that condition, we will lay down our arms. But if you violate your word, God rest your soul, I will come back from hell to avenge each and every one of my men.”

Tirus nodded, satisfied, and Erec reached out and dropped his sword and scabbard down to the ground. They landed with a clang.

Kendrick followed, as did Bronson and Srog, each of them reluctant but knowing it was the wise course.

Behind them came the clash of thousands of weapons, all falling through the air and landing on the winter ground, all the Silver and MacGils and Silesians surrendering.

Tirus smiled wide.

“Now dismount,” he commanded.

One at a time, they dismounted, standing before their horses.

Tirus grinned, reveling in his victory.

“For all those years I was exiled to the Upper Isles, I envied King’s Court, my elder brother, all of his power. But now which MacGil holds all the power?”

“The power of treachery is no power at all,” Bronson said back.

Tirus scowled and nodded to his men.

They rushed forward and bound each of their wrists with coarse ropes. They all began to get dragged away, thousands of them captive.

As Kendrick was being pulled, he suddenly recalled his brother, Godfrey. They had all set off together, yet he had not seen him or his men anywhere since. He wondered if somehow he had managed to escape? He prayed that he would find a better fate than they. Somehow, he was optimistic.