to kill a defenseless man.
Thor turned his back on his father, facing his own people, facing Gwendolyn. Clearly he had won the battle; he had made his point. Now, Andronicus, if he had any honor, would have no choice but to return home.
“THORGRIN!” Gwendolyn screamed.
Thor turned to see, with shock, Andronicus’s axe swinging at him, coming right for his head. Thor ducked at the last second, and the axe flew by.
Andronicus was fast, though, and in the same motion he swung back around with his gauntlet and backhanded Thor across the jaw, knocking him down to his hands and knees.
Thor felt an awful cracking in his ribs, as Andronicus’ boot kicked him in the stomach, sending him rolling, gasping for air.
Thor lay on his hands and knees, breathing hard, blood dripping from his mouth, his ribs killing him, trying to muster the strength to get up. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Andronicus step forward, smile wide, and raise his axe high with both hands. He was aiming, Thor could see, to chop off Thor’s head. Thor could see it in his bloodshot eyes that Andronicus would have no mercy, as Thor had had.
“This is what I should have done thirty years ago,” Andronicus said.
Andronicus let out a great scream, as he brought his axe down for Thor’s exposed neck.
Thor, though, was not done fighting; he managed one last burst of energy, and despite all his pain, he scrambled to his feet and charged his father, tackling him around the ribs, driving him backwards, onto the ground, on his back.
Thor lay on top of him, wrestling him down, preparing to fight him with his bare hands. It had become a wrestling match. Andronicus reached up and grabbed Thor’s throat, and Thor was surprised by his strength; he felt himself losing air quickly as he was choked.
Thor grasped at his waist, desperate, searching for his dagger. The royal dagger, the one King MacGil had given him, before he died. Thor was losing air fast, and he knew if he didn’t find it soon, he’d be dead.
Thor found it with his last breath. He raised it high, and plunged it down with both hands, into Andronicus’ chest.
Andronicus shot up, gasping for air, eyes bulging in a death stare, as he sat up and continued to choke his son.
Thor, out of breath, was seeing stars, going limp.
Finally, slowly, Andronicus’ grip released, as his arms fell to his side. His eyes rolled sideways, and he stopped moving.
He lay there frozen. Dead.
Thor gasped as he pried his father’s limp hand from his throat, heaving and coughing, rolling off his father’s dead body.
His entire body was shaking. He had just killed his father. He had not thought it was possible.
Thor glanced around and saw all the warriors, both armies, staring at him in shock. Thor felt a tremendous heat course through his body, as if some profound shift had just occurred within him, as if he had wiped some evil part of himself. He felt changed, lighter.
Thor heard a great noise in the sky, like thunder, and he looked up and saw a small black cloud appear over Andronicus’ corpse, and a funnel of small black shadows, like demons, whirl down to the ground. They swirled around his father, encompassing him, howling, then lifted his body high into the air, higher and higher, until it disappeared into the cloud. Thor watched, in shock, and wondered to what hell his father’s soul would be dragged.
Thor looked up, and saw the Empire army facing him, tens and tens of thousands of men, vengeance in their eyes. The Great Andronicus was dead. Yet still, his men remained. Thor and the men of the Ring were still outnumbered a hundred to one. They had won the battle, but they were about to lose the war.
Erec and Kendrick and Srog and Bronson walked to Thor’s side, swords drawn, as they all faced the Empire together. Horns sounded up and down the Empire line, and Thor prepared to face battle one last time. He knew they could not win. But at least they would all go down together, in one great clash of glory.
Chapter Seven
Reece marched beside Selese, Illepra, Elden, Indra, O’Connor, Conven, Krog and Serna, the nine of them marching west, as they had been for hours, ever since emerging from the Canyon. Somewhere, Reece knew, his people were on the horizon, and, dead or alive, he was determined to find them.
Reece had been shocked as they had passed through a landscape of destruction, endless fields of corpses, littered by feasting birds, charred from the breath of dragons. Thousands of Empire corpses lined the horizon, some of them still smoking. The smoke from their bodies filled the air, the unbearable stench of burning flesh permeating a land destroyed. Whomever had not been killed by the dragon’s breath had been marred in the conventional battle against the Empire, MacGils and McClouds lying dead, too, entire towns destroyed, piles of rubble everywhere. Reece shook his head: this land, that had once been so abundant, was now ravaged by war.
Ever since arising from the Canyon, Reece and the others had been determined to make it home, to get back to the MacGil side of the Ring. Unable to find horses, they had marched all the way through the McCloud side, up over the Highlands, down the other side, and now, finally, they marched through MacGil territory, passing nothing but ruin and devastation. From the looks of the land, the dragons had help destroyed the Empire troops, and for that, Reece was grateful. But Reece still did not know what state he might find his own people in. Was everyone dead in the Ring? Thus far, it seemed so. Reece was aching to find out if everyone was okay.
Each time they reached a battlefield of dead and injured, the ones not seared by the dragons’ flames, Illepra and Selese went from corpse to corpse, turning them over, checking. Not only were they driven by their professions but Illepra also had another goal in mind: to find Reece’s brother. Godfrey. It was a goal Reece shared.
“He’s not here,” Illepra announced yet again, as she finally stood, having turned over the last corpse of this field, disappointment etched across her face.
Reece could tell how much Illepra cared for his brother, and he was touched. Reece, too, hoped that he was okay and among the living – but from the looks of these thousands of corpses, he had a sinking feeling he was not.
They moved on, marched over yet another rolling field, another series of hills, and as they did, they spotted another battlefield on the horizon, thousands more corpses laid out. They headed for it.
As they walked, Illepra cried quietly. Selese laid a hand on her wrist.
“He’s alive,” Selese reassured. “Do not worry.”
Reece stepped up and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, feeling compassion for her.
“If it’s one thing I know about my brother,” Reece said, “he’s a survivor. He finds a way out of everything. Even death. I promise you. Godfrey is more likely already in a tavern somewhere, getting drunk.”
Illepra laughed through her tears, and wiped them away.
“I hope so,” she said. “For the first time, I really hope so.”
They continued their somber march, silently through the wasteland, each lost in their own thoughts. Images of the Canyon flashed through Reece’s mind; he could not suppress them. He thought back to how desperate their situation had been, and was filled with gratitude to Selese; if she hadn’t appeared when he had, they
