A Grant of Arms

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Romulus galloped across the countryside, heading east, away from all the soldiers, away from the entire Empire army. Luanda was seated on the front of the horse, and she still struggled, despite his muscular arms wrapped around tight around her waist. He was surprised at her strength. Even with the ropes binding her, even with his huge arms, he had a hard time keeping her still. She was like a bucking horse. She wanted desperately to be free—but he could not let her.

Romulus rode the horse ever faster, kicking it until it protested in pain, knowing he had to make the Eastern Crossing, get back to the other side and bring Luanda with him. His magic cloak lay at the ready at his waist.

Romulus was still smarting from his defeat at the hand of Andronicus’ men, something he had never anticipated. He had been sure he would take Andronicus by surprise and take over the Ring. But in the end, Romulus had been lucky to escape with his life, even though he’d had to turn and flee, alone, for the safety of the Canyon.

But he had his prize now, and that was all that mattered. Luanda. A MacGil. The firstborn MacGil, no less.

Romulus prayed that the legend of the cloak was true, that as soon as he crossed the Canyon with her, the Shield would shatter, and his millions of men waiting outside the Canyon could come rushing in. This time, he would lead them to complete and utter victory against Andronicus, and crush the Ring. Then Romulus would be Supreme Commander, and there would be no one and nothing left to stop him.

Romulus was so close now, he could almost taste it.

They rode and rode, across the empty, frozen plains, until finally the Eastern Crossing came into view, the high pillars of its entrance marking the horizon. Romulus’ horse was near exhaustion, but he kicked even harder, digging his heels in. His destiny was close at hand, and he intended to grab hold of it.

Romulus recalled that, for the cloak to work, he’d have to cross the Canyon with the MacGil on foot. As he reached the base of the Canyon, the entry to the bridge, he stopped abruptly, dismounted, grabbed Luanda, and yanked her down with him.

Somehow, even with her hands bound, Luanda managed to slip out from under him and before he could react, she began to run across the landscape.

In a rage, Romulus reacted quickly, grabbing the whip from his saddle and lashing out at her, wrapping it around her ankles.

Luanda shrieked as he lashed her ankles together, and she fell face first to the ground.

Romulus pulled her roughly towards him, dragging her along the ground. He reached down, grabbed her with one hand, lifted her high into the air, and scowled up at her.

“If you were not a MacGil, I would kill you right now,” he seethed.

Luanda grimaced and spat in his face.

Startled, Romulus backhanded her.

Blood sprayed from her lips, and she finally seemed broken; yet Romulus’ rage was not satisfied. He would tear her apart if he could. Perhaps he would, as soon as they crossed the Canyon. Yes, the thought of that appeased him.

Romulus turned, faced the bridge, and draped the cloak over his shoulders. He felt it buzzing, vibrating, felt an energy race through him that he had not felt before. He was certain it was going to work; he would single-handedly take down the Shield. His heart pounded with anticipation.

Romulus reached down and with one arm grabbed Luanda by the waist, hoisting her up and carrying her through the air like an unruly child. He began marching with her onto the bridge.

Luanda bucked and screamed, trying with all her might to get loose. But he held her tight this time, and there was no escape.

Romulus took his first step onto the bridge, and it felt good. Soon he would be across; and despite all the flailing and screaming in the world, there was nothing Luanda could do to stop him.

Soon, the Ring would be his.