A Grant of Arms

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Kendrick charged across the landscape, Erec, Bronson, and Srog at his side and thousands of liberated troops riding behind them, all of them free once again. They had been riding all night long, ever since they’d escaped the Empire camp, and had never slowed, putting as much distance between them as they could.

Now, finally, dawn was breaking. It had been a long and harrowing night, ever since Kendrick, Erec, Bronson, and Srog had freed thousands of their men, had massacred their captors, and had ridden off while the bulk of the Empire soldiers were still asleep. They had not wanted to get embroiled in a full-scale encounter with the vast Empire forces in the middle of the night; rather, they moved quickly and stealthily, killing any troops who stood in their way. They reclaimed their horses and arms, and took off. They wanted to fight another day, on their own terms.

Here, on the McCloud side of the kingdom, Bronson knew the terrain, and he led them expertly. Kendrick knew they were lucky to have him, as he was proving an invaluable guide to help hide them from the Empire. Kendrick and Erec had asked Bronson to lead them to a terrain where they could be well-hidden from the Empire, yet also from which they could attack a smaller division. They would have to switch tactics, and it was time for a new strategy now: instead of facing off with the entire Empire army, they would have to find smaller divisions—just a few thousand men, to match their own few thousand—and wage smaller battles, before retreating again. Being so outnumbered, the only way to success would be to wage a prolonged, guerilla war. They could stick to the mountains, stay well-hidden in the Highlands, and be a lethal fighting force, attacking strategically, like a snake, then retreating. They may not have the same numbers and strength, but they had the willpower to outwait the Empire.

They rode and rode, following Bronson’s lead as he turned off a steep trail, leading them right up one side of the Highlands. They had been following an old trail of the Empire, taking them past waves of destruction, from one McCloud town to the next. Finally, the trail stopped here, at the top of a particular peak.

They all slowed their horses and came to a stop.

“Highlandia,” Bronson called out, pointing.

From this vantage point, at a distant peak, Kendrick saw, across the mountain range, Highlandia, the small McCloud city, perched high up, on the very edge of the Highlands, straddling the Eastern and Western kingdoms of the Ring. Even in the dawn, he could see that Andronicus’ forces occupied it. He saw their fires still smoldering, noted the heads of prisoners on pikes throughout the city, and could tell that they had recently massacred the McClouds here.

There appeared to be several thousand men encamped about the city, and it was hard to tell how many more lay within. He could not tell if this was the bulk of the Empire army, or just a lone division.

“This might be a prime city for us to attack,” Kendrick said.

“Highlandia is a small city, but a strategic point at the peak of the Highlands,” Bronson said. “It makes sense that Andronicus would take it. From here, is a straight ride down to the Western kingdom, the roads branching in all directions. It would be his first stop to crush the McCloud resistance and launch a final attack on the Western Kingdom and dominate the Ring.”

“But is Andronicus himself inside?” Srog asked. “And how many men with him?”

They all surveyed it. It was hard to tell.

“It could be risky,” Bronson said. “‘Perhaps it would be better to hide out here in the mountains, and wait for a smaller group to attack, or a smaller city.”

Kendrick shook his head.

“No more waiting,” he said. “Any day could be our last. Never again will I subject myself to imprisonment by anyone. If we are to die, we will die on our feet. We attack now!”

“I am with you!” Erec said, drawing his sword.

“And I!” Bronson said.

“So be it!” Srog said.

They all kicked their horses and charged along the edge of the Highlands, weaving in and out of the steep mountain trails, racing towards Highlandia. In the breaking dawn, with most Empire troops still sleeping, perhaps they would have the advantage of surprise, Kendrick thought. Perhaps they could take this city, and make it a stronghold of their own. Maybe, if they could wait long enough, Gwendolyn would return, with Argon. And maybe, just maybe, the tide could turn in their favor.

Even if not, this was what they were born to do: to attack against the odds, to never cower from the enemy, to fight for the right cause, even when the odds seemed impossible. Kendrick had been given a great privilege in his life: he had been given a grant of arms. They all had. And he intended to use it, as long as he was still alive.

An Empire horn sounded, then another, then another, all along the parapets of the small castle of Highlandia. Suddenly, the tall, iron portcullis opened, and hundreds of Empire soldiers appeared, charging right for them. They were not sleeping: they had been ready and waiting.

Nonetheless, Kendrick let out a great battle cry of his own and charged harder, prepared to fight, to kill anyone who dared stand in his way.

But as he got closer, as the Empire soldiers came into view, he saw a face charge through the gate, a face that made his blood run cold. It was the only face that could make him lower his sword, make his mouth drop open in shock, and make him nearly fall off his mount.

There, facing him, riding out to meet him, sword raised high, was a man he loved like a brother.

There was Thorgrin.