A Grant of Arms

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Thor lunged for Andronicus, sword drawn, aiming to kill him.

Andronicus’ eyes opened wide in surprise; clearly he had not been expecting this from his son. Yet his reflexes kicked in, and as Thor charged, Andronicus dodged, stepping out of the way right before the sword could impale him.

Thorgrin continued charging, right into the crowd of unsuspecting Empire soldiers, killing them left and right with a great battle cry. He slashed and stabbed one after the other, and soon, the bodies piled up, and soldiers ran to get out of his way.

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.