A Grant of Arms

Krog was the only one who stood there, red-faced, defiant.

“You are damn fools,” he said. “All of you.”

But still, he stepped forward, joining them.

Reece, satisfied, turned and led them to the Canyon’s edge. There was no more time to waste.

* * *

Reece clung to the side of the cliff as he inched his way down, the others several feet above him, all of them making the painful descent, as they had been for hours. Reece’s heart pounded as he scrambled to keep his footing, his fingers raw and numb with cold, his feet slipping on the slick rock. He had not anticipated it to be this hard. He had looked down and had studied the terrain, the shape of the rock, and had noticed that in some places, the rock went straight down, perfectly smooth, impossible to climb; in other places it was covered in a dense moss; and in still others, it had a serrated slope, indents, holes, nooks, and crannies in which one could place one’s feet and hands. He had even spotted the occasional ledge to rest on.

Yet the actual climbing had proved much harder than it had seemed. The mist perpetually obscured his view, and as Reece swallowed and looked down, he was having a harder and harder time finding footholds. Not to mention, even after all this time climbing, the bottom, if it even existed, remained out of sight.

Inwardly, Reece was feeling a mounting fear, a dryness in his throat. A part of him wondered if he had made a grave mistake.

But he dared not show his fear to the others. With Thor gone, he was their leader now, and he needed to set an example. He also knew that indulging his fears would not do him any good. He needed to stay strong and to stay focused; he knew that fear would only obscure his abilities.

Reece’s hands were trembling as he got a hold of himself. He told himself he had to forget what lay below and concentrate just on what lay before him.

Just one step at a time, he told himself. He felt better thinking of it that way.

Reece found another foothold, and took another step down, then another, and found himself starting to get back into a rhythm.

“WATCH OUT!” someone yelled.

Reece braced himself as small pebbles suddenly showered down all around him, bouncing off his head and shoulders. He looked up to see a large rock come hurling down; he dodged and just missed it.

“Sorry!” O’Connor called down. “Loose rock!”

Reece’s heart was pounding as he looked back down and tried to stay calm. He was dying to know where the bottom was; he reached over, grabbed a small rock which had landed on his shoulder, and, looking down, hurled it.

He watched, waiting to see if it made a noise.

It never did.

His foreboding deepened. There was still no sense of where the canyon ended. And with his hands and feet already trembling, he did not know if they could make it. Reece swallowed, all sorts of thoughts racing through his brain as he continued. What if Krog had been right? What if there really was no bottom? What if this was a reckless suicide mission?

As Reece took another step, scampering down several feet, gaining momentum again, suddenly he heard the sound of body scraping rock, and then heard someone cry out. There came a commotion beside him, and he looked over to see Elden, beginning to fall, slipping down past him.

Reece instinctively reached out a hand, and managed to grab Elden’s wrist as he slipped past. Luckily Reece had a firm grip on the cliff with his other hand, and was able to hold Elden tightly, preventing him from sliding all the way down. Elden dangled, though, unable to find footing. Elden was too big and heavy, and Reece felt his strength slipping away.

Indra appeared, scaling down quickly, and reached out and grabbed Elden’s other wrist. Elden scrambled, but could not find footing.

“I can’t find a hold!” Elden screamed back, panic in his voice. He kicked wildly, and Reece feared that he would lose his own grip and go falling down with him. He thought quickly.

Reece recalled the rope and grappling hook O’Connor had shown him before their descent, the tool of choice they used to scale walls during a siege. In case it comes in handy, O’Connor had said.

“O’Connor, your rope!” Reece screamed. “Throw it down!”

Reece looked up and watched O’Connor pull the rope from his waist, lean back and impale the hook into a nook in the wall. He sank it in with all his might, tested it several times, then threw it down. The rope dangled past Reece.

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.

Chapter Three

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.

With Godfrey, one never knew.

Chapter Four

Godfrey rode out in front of his men, flanked by Akorth, Fulton, and his Silesian general, and riding beside the Empire commander whom he had paid off liberally. Godfrey rode with a wide smile on his face, more than satisfied as he looked over and saw the division of Empire men, several thousand strong, riding alongside them, joining his cause.

He reflected with satisfaction on the payoff he had given them, the endless bags of gold, recalled the looks on their faces, and was elated that his plan had worked. He hadn’t been sure of it up until the last moment, and for the first time, he breathed easy. There were many ways to win a battle, after all, and he had just won one without shedding a drop of blood. Perhaps that didn’t make him as chivalrous or bold as the other warriors. But, still, it made him successful. And at the end of the day, wasn’t that the goal? He would rather keep all his men alive with a little bit of bribery than see half of them killed in some reckless act of chivalry. That was just him.

Godfrey had worked hard to achieve what he had. He’d used all of his black-market connections through the brothels, back alleys, and taverns in order to find out who had been sleeping with whom, which brothels the Empire commanders frequented in the Ring, and which Empire commander was open to being paid off. Godfrey had deeper illicit contacts than most – indeed, he had spent his entire life accumulating them – and now they had come in handy. It had also not hurt that he had paid each of his contacts off well. Finally, he had put his daddy’s gold to good use.

Still, Godfrey had not been sure if they were reliable, not until the last moment. There was no one to sell you out like a thief, and he’d had to take the chance that he was being had. He knew it was a coin toss, that these people were only as reliable as the gold they were paid. But he’d paid them with very, very fine gold, and they had turned out to be more reliable than he thought.

Of course, he had no idea how long this division of Empire troops would remain loyal. But at least they had wormed their way out of one battle, and for now, had them at their side.

“I was wrong about you,” came a voice.

Godfrey turned to see the Silesian general coming up beside him with a look of admiration.

“I doubted you, I must admit,” he continued. “I apologize. I could not have imagined the plan you had up your sleeve. It was ingenious. I won’t question you again.”

Godfrey smiled back, feeling vindicated. All the generals, all the military types, had doubted him his whole life. In his father’s court, a court of warriors, he had always been looked upon with disdain. Now, finally, they were seeing that he, in his own way, could be as competent as them.

“Don’t worry,” Godfrey said. “I question myself. I am learning as I go. I am not a commander, and I have no master plan other than to survive any way I can.”

“And where to now?” the general asked.

“To join with Kendrick, Erec, and the others, and do what we can to abet their cause.”

They rode, the thousands of them, an awkward and uneasy alliance between the Empire men and Godfrey’s, charging up and down hills, across long, dry, dusty plains, heading to the valley where Kendrick had told them to rendezvous.

As they rode, a million thoughts raced through Godfrey’s mind. He wondered how Kendrick and Erec had fared; he wondered how outnumbered they would be; and he wondered how he would fare in the next battle, a real battle. There was no more avoiding it; he had no more tricks up his sleeve, no more gold.

He gulped, nervous. He felt that he did not have the same level of courage that all the others seemed to have, that they all seemed to be born with. Everyone else seemed so fearless in battle, and even in life. But Godfrey had to admit he was afraid. When it came down to it, to the thick of battle, he knew he would not shirk. But he was clumsy and awkward; he did not have the skills of the others, and he just didn’t know how many times he would be saved by the gods of luck.

The others didn’t seem to care if they died – they all seemed too willing to give their lives for glory. Godfrey appreciated glory. But he loved life more. He loved his ale, and loved his food, and even now, he felt a growling in his stomach, an urge to be back in the safety of a tavern somewhere. A life of battle was just not for him.

But Godfrey thought of Thor, out there somewhere, captive; he thought of all his kin fighting for the cause, and he knew this was where his honor, as sullied as it might be, compelled him to be.

They rode and rode and, finally, all crested a peak and were afforded a sweeping view of the valley spread out below. They came to a halt, and Godfrey squinted into the blinding sun, trying to adjust, to make sense of the sight before him. He raised one hand to shield his eyes and looked out, confused.

Then, to his dread, all became clear. Godfrey’s heart stopped: down below, thousands of Kendrick’s and Erec’s and Srog’s men were being dragged away, bound as captives. This was the fighting force he was supposed to meet up with. They were completely surrounded, by ten times as many Empire soldiers. They were on foot, wrists bound, all taken prisoner, all being led away. Godfrey knew Kendrick and Erec would never surrender unless there had been good reason. It looked as if they had been set up.

Godfrey froze, struck with panic. He wondered how this could have happened. He had been expecting to find them all in the heat of a well-matched battle, had expected to charge in and join forces with them. But now, instead, they were disappearing into the horizon, already a good half-day’s ride away.

The Empire general rode up beside Godfrey and scoffed.

“It seems your men have lost,” the Empire general said. “That wasn’t part of our deal.”

Godfrey turned to him, and saw how anxious the general seemed to be.

“I paid you well,” Godfrey said, nervous but mustering his most confident voice as he felt his deal falling apart. “And you promised to join me in my cause.”

But the Empire general shook his head.

“I promised to join you in battle – not on a suicide mission. My few thousand men will not go up against an entire battalion of Andronicus’. Our deal has changed. You can fight them on your own – and I’m keeping your gold.”

The Empire general turned and screamed as he kicked his horse and took off in the other direction, his men following on his heels. They soon disappeared down on the other side of the valley.

“He has our gold!” Akorth said. “Should we pursue him?”

Godfrey shook his head as he watched them ride off.

“And what good would that do? Gold is gold. I’m not going to risk our lives for it. Let him go. There is always more.”

Godfrey turned and watched the horizon, the disappearing group of Kendrick's and Erec’s men, which he cared more about. Now he was without backup, and was even more isolated than before. He felt his plans crumbling all around him.

“Now what?” Fulton asked.

Godfrey shrugged.

“I have no idea,” he said.

“You’re not supposed to say that,” Fulton said. “You’re a commander now.”

But Godfrey merely shrugged again. “I speak the truth.”

“This warrior stuff is hard,” Akorth said, scratching his belly as he removed his helmet. “It doesn’t seem to quite work out as you expect, does it?”

Godfrey sat there on his horse, shaking his head, pondering what to do. He’d been dealt a hand he had not expected, and he had no contingency plan.

“Should we turn back?” Fulton asked.

“No,” Godfrey heard himself say, surprising even himself.

The others turned and looked at him, shocked. Others huddled closer to hear his command.

“I may not be a great warrior,” Godfrey said, “but those are my brothers out there. They are being taken away. We cannot turn back. Even if it means our deaths.”

“Are you mad?” the Silesian general asked. “All of those fine warriors of the Silver, of the MacGils, of the Silesians – all of them, and they could not fight back the Empire’s men. How do you think a few thousand of our men, under your command, will do it?”

Godfrey turned to him, annoyed. He was tired of being doubted.

“I never said we would win,” he countered. “I say only that it is the right thing to do. I will not abandon them. Now if you want to turn around and go home, feel free. I will attack them myself.”

“You are an inexperienced commander,” he said, scowling. “You know not of what you speak. You will lead all these men to certain death.”

“I am,” Godfrey said. “That is true. But you promised not to doubt me again. And I won’t be turning around.”

Godfrey rode several feet forward and up an elevation so that he could be seen by all his men.

“MEN!” he called out, his voice booming. “I know you don’t know me as a tried-and-true commander, as you do Kendrick or Erec or Srog. And it is true, I do not have their skills. But I have heart, at least on occasion. And so do you. What I know is that those are our brothers out there, captured. And I myself would rather not live than live to see them taken away before our eyes, than go back home like dogs to our cities and await the Empire to come and kill us, too. Be sure of it: they will kill us one day. We can all go down now, on our feet, fighting, chasing the enemy as free men. Or we can go down in shame and dishonor. The choice is yours. Ride with me, and live or not, you will ride to glory!”

There came a shout from his men, one so enthusiastic that it surprised Godfrey. They all raised their swords high into the air, and it gave him courage.

It also made Godfrey realize the reality of what he just said. He had not really thought through his words before saying them; he just got swept up in the moment. Now he realized he was committed to it, and he was a little shocked by his own words. His own bravery was daunting to even him.

As the men pranced on their horses, prepared their arms, and got ready for their final charge, Akorth and Fulton came up alongside him.

“Drink?” Akorth asked.

Godfrey looked down and saw him reaching out with a skin of wine, and he snatched it from Akorth’s hand; he threw his head back and drank and drank, until he had nearly drunk the whole thing, barely stopping to catch his breath. Finally, Godfrey wiped the back of his mouth and handed it back.

What have I done? he wondered. He had committed himself, and the others, to a battle he could not win. Had he been thinking clearly?

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Akorth said, patting him roughly on the back as he belched. “Quite a speech. Better than theater!”

“We should have sold tickets!” Fulton chimed in.

“I guess you’re not half wrong,” Akorth said. “Better to die on our feet than on our backs.”

“Although on our backs might not be half bad, if it’s in a brothel bed,” Fulton added.

“Hear hear!” Fulton said. “Or how about dying with a mug of ale in our arms and our heads tilted back!”

“That would be fine indeed,” Akorth said, drinking.

“But after a while I suppose, it would all get boring,” Fulton said. “How many mugs can one man drink, how many women can one man bed?”

“Well, a lot, if you think about it rightly,” Akorth said.

“Even so, I suppose it might be fun to die a different way. Not as boring.”

Akorth sighed.

“Well, if we survive all this, at least it would give us cause to really have a drink. For once in our lives, we will have earned it!”

Godfrey turned away, trying to tune out Akorth and Fulton’s perpetual chatter. He needed to concentrate. The time had come for him to become a man, to leave behind witty banter and tavern jokes; to make real decisions that affected real men in the real world. He felt a heaviness about him; he could not help but wonder if this was as his father had felt. In some strange way, as much as he hated the man, he was beginning to sympathize with his father. And maybe even, to his own horror, to become like him.