Morgan Rice - A Grant of Arms

Selese reached the foot of the bridge, stopped her horse, and dismounted, as did Illepra. The two of them stood there, breathing hard beside their horses.

Selese looked out and wondered. She saw no immediate sign of Reece, and her heart sank.

“Perhaps he already crossed?” Illepra asked.

Selese shrugged. She had no idea.

Selese scanned the floor of the bridge, and she saw something which she recognized with her expert eye: blood.

She followed the trail nervously, Illepra beside her. Clearly, a great struggle had taken place here. She only prayed that Reece had not been involved.

As they headed farther onto the bridge, Selese spotted corpses on the ground, and her heart leapt. She prayed none of them were Reece’s.

Selese rushed forward, nearly crying as she knelt down, and turned each body over. She breathed deep, so relieved to see that the faces did not belong to Reece. None of these were faces she recognized.

“They bear the markings of the Empire,” Illepra observed. “Empire soldiers, all of them,” she said, turning them over with her boot. “They were killed by someone.”

“By Reece,” said Selese, hopeful. “I’m sure he killed them. These men were probably taking the Sword. And he stopped them. As a good knight should.”

“And where is he, then?” Illepra asked.

Selese stood there and looked all around, wondering. Could Reece have turned around and gone home, with the Sword? That would be most tragic, if she had ridden all this way for nothing.

Selese went to the railing, laid her palms on it, and stood there and looked out. She sighed, looking down into the mist, and wondered. Was Reece out there somewhere?

As Selese ran her hands along the wide, smooth stone railing of the bridge, she felt something which made her stop and look down. There was, she noticed, a jagged chip in the rail. She noticed blood, and a chunk of the rail knocked off below.

Selese turned and looked at the dead soldiers, and looked back at the markings on the railing, and suddenly, she pieced it all together.

“The boulder,” she said. “There was a struggle. It was hoisted over the edge. Look.”

Illepra came hurrying over, and Selese leaned over and pointed out the marks the boulder had left.

“Then they must have abandoned the mission,” Illepra said. “He must have turned back. Perhaps he’s back with the camp even now.”

Selese stared down for a long time, and finally, something dawned on her.

“No,” she said. “Reece would never abandon a mission. It is not who he is. He did not turn back to safety. He is down there.”

Illepra paused, confused.

“Down where?” she asked.

“Down there!” Selese said, pointing. “He descended to the bottom of the Canyon. He went to search for it.”

“That is madness!” Illepra said. “Who would do something as crazy as that?”

Selese smiled, proud of him.

“Reece is a man of honor. He would do anything for the sake of the Ring.”

She thought, working it out in her mind, and another idea occurred to her.

“He probably went down hastily, as his honor obliged him, but with no plan to ascend. He is trapped. We must go down there. We must help him!”

Illepra shook her head.

“That would be impossible. There is no way down, except for those walls, and I myself cannot climb.”

“There’s another way,” came a voice.

They spun to find an old man standing at the base the bridge, leaning on a cane. He was grizzled, hunched over, with a long white beard and shaggy hair. He wore a ragged cloak and looked as if he’d seen the woes of the world.

“You are brave girls. I cannot deny that. So I will tell you. There’s another way down, to save the ones you love.”

Selese turned and walked towards him, intrigued, and asked, “What other way?”

“I am the watcher of the Canyon. I see all that goes on here. I saw them descend.”

“You did?” Selese asked, wide-eyed.

He nodded.

“They scaled down, without any ropes. You are correct. There is no way out for them. Not without the Linden Rope.”

“The Linden Rope?” she asked.

The old man nodded back slowly.

“A way to get down, to the bottom of the Canyon, and to get back up. It has not been used since I was a youth. But I know where it lies; they still keep it in my village. I can lead you to it. The rest is up to you.”

Selese surveyed him. He stared back with translucent, knowing eyes. He appeared nearly blind.

“Why would you help us?” Illepra asked, suspicious.

He smiled, revealing only a few teeth.

“I admire courage,” he said. “Whether in a man or in a woman. I’m too old for it myself. I’ll give you whatever tools you need to express it on your own. Besides, I hate the Empire.”

Selese looked to Illepra, as if asking whether to trust him, and she nodded back.

But he was already walking, head low, moving along with his cane, as if expecting them to follow.

Reece struggled with all his might as he stood there, bound to the post, his wrists and ankles tied behind him, unable to break free. He struggled desperately, and as he looked over he saw all of his legion brothers struggling, too, all equally unsuccessful. They were all lined up, each bound to a tall, wooden pole, ten feet apart from each other, laid out in a semicircle, so that they could see each other. Before them, hardly twenty feet away, they all faced the huge glowing pit of molten lava.

Small and large chunks of lava spewed intermittently out of the hole, and Reece could feel the heat of it even from here, singing his face. As he watched, a small spark of lava went flying in a high arc and landed on his forearm, burning him. He writhed, screaming, as it burned a small hole on his skin.

Sweating, Reece knew they had to do something fast. The Faws had outwitted them, and now they were all their prisoners, facing certain death. Centra was captive, too, but they must have recognized him as a local, because they kept him apart from the others, two Faws holding his arms roughly, his arms bound, while a third held a small dagger to his throat.

As Reece stood there, he scanned their environs, searching for the Destiny Sword. It was still lodged in the boulder, and the boulder, tied to a long rope, was being hoisted, one pull a time, up the far side of the Canyon. Dozens of Faws pulled at it, and with each pull, it climbed higher up the Canyon. It was ascending the wrong side of the Canyon, the eastern side. Reece knew that if it reached the top, the Sword would cross the Canyon. The Shield would be down, and the Ring would be finished.

He had no time. He had to stop them. But Reece had bigger problems: as it was, it appeared that they would not even make it out of here alive.

The Faws spoke to Centra quickly, in a language Reece did not understand, and as they did, they gestured frantically towards Reece.

“They are telling me to give you a message,” Centra said. “They want you to know with joy and delight that you are about to be killed. You are to be the sacrifice of the day. They want you to know this before you die, so that you can take satisfaction in knowing that you are food for their god. And they want you to suffer from your death even before you experience it.”

Reece half-grinned amidst his pain.

“That’s very kind of them,” he answered.

“What are they talking about?” O’Connor asked aloud. “What kind of sacrifice?”

Centra spoke back to the Faws in their native language, and they immediately answered him. Centra hesitated, then looked over at the pit with apprehension.

“They plan to throw you into the lava pit—”

Centra paused, clearly not wanting to translate the rest of it, but they, unhappy, jabbed him with the dagger. He continued: