“I will not fight you,” Andronicus said finally, as he lowered his axe.
Thor had heard enough. He had to make a move now, before he allowed his mind to be swayed by this monster.
Thor let out a battle cry, raised sword high and charged forward, bringing it down with both hands for Andronicus’ head.
Andronicus stared back in surprise, then at the last second, he reached down, grabbed his axe from the ground, raised it and blocked Thor’s blow.
Sparks flew off of Thor’s sword as the two of them locked weapons, inches away, each groaning, as Andronicus held back Thor’s blow.
“Thornicus,” Andronicus grunted, “your strength is great. But it is my strength. I gave you this. My blood runs in your veins. Stop this madness, and join me!”
Andronicus pushed Thor back, and Thor stumbled backwards.
“Never!” Thor screamed, defiant. “I will never return to you. You are no father to me. You are a stranger. You don’t deserve to be my father!”
Thor charged again, screaming, and brought his sword down. Andronicus blocked it, and Thor, expecting it, quickly spun around with his sword and slashed Andronicus’ arm.
Andronicus cried out as blood squirted from his wound. He stumbled back and looked Thor over with disbelief, reaching over and touching his wound, then examining the blood on his hand.
“You mean to kill me,” Andronicus said, as if realizing for the first time. “After all I’ve done for you.”
“I most certainly do,” Thorgrin said.
Andronicus studied him, as if studying a new person, and soon his look changed from one of wonder and disappointment, to one of anger.
“Then you are no son of mine!” he screamed. “The Great Andronicus does not ask twice!”
Andronicus threw down his sword, raised his battle axe with both hands, let out a great cry and charged for Thor. Finally, the battle had begun.
Thor raised his sword to block the blow, but it came down with such force that, to Thor’s shock, it shattered Thor’s sword, breaking it in two.
Thor quickly improvised, dodging out of the way as the blow continued to come down; it just grazed him, missing by an inch, so close he could feel the wind brush his shoulder. His father had tremendous strength, greater than any warrior he’d ever faced, and Thor knew this would not be easy. His father was fast, too – a deadly combination. And now Thor had no weapon.
Andronicus swung around again without hesitating, swinging sideways, aiming to chop Thor in half.
Thor leapt into the air, high over Andronicus his head, doing a somersault, using his inner powers to propel him, to bring him high in the air and land behind Andronicus. He landed on his feet, reached down and grabbed his father’s sword from the ground, spun around and charged, swinging for Andronicus’ back.
But to Thor’s surprise, Andronicus was so fast, he was prepared. He spun around and blocked the blow. Thor felt the impact of metal hitting metal reverberate throughout his body. Andronicus’ sword, at least, held; it was stronger than his. It was strange, to hold his father’s sword – especially when facing his father.
Thor swung around, and came down sideways for Andronicus’ shoulder. Andronicus blocked, and came down for Thor’s.
Back and forth they went, attacking and blocking, Thor driving Andronicus back, and Andronicus, in turn, pushing Thor back. Sparks flew, the weapons moving so fast, gleaming in the light, their great clangs riveting the battlefield, the two armies watching, transfixed. The two great warriors pushed each other back and forth across the open clearing, neither gaining an inch.
Thor raised his sword to strike again, but this time Andronicus surprised him by stepping forward and kicking him in the chest. Thor went flying backwards, landing on his back.
Andronicus rushed forward and brought down his axe. Thor rolled out of the way, but not quickly enough: it sliced Thor’s bicep, just enough to draw blood. Thor cried out, but nonetheless, swung around, and swung his sword and sliced Andronicus’ calf.
Andronicus stumbled and cried out, and Thor rolled back to his feet, as the two faced each other, each wounded.
“I’m stronger than you, son,” Andronicus said. “And more experienced in battle. Give in now. Your Druid powers will not work against me. It is just me against you, man to man, sword to sword. And as a warrior, I am better. You know this. Yield to me, and I shall not kill you.”
Thor scowled.
“I yield to no one! Least of all you!”
Thor forced himself to think of Gwendolyn, of what Andronicus had done to her, and his rage intensified. Now was the time. Thor was determined to finish Andronicus off, once and for all, to send this awful creature back to hell.
Thor charged with a final burst of strength, giving it all he had, letting out a great cry. He brought his sword down left and right, swinging so fast he could barely contain it, Andronicus blocking each one, even as he was pushed back, step by step. The fighting went on and on, and Andronicus seemed surprised that his son could exhibit such strength, and for so long.
Thor found his moment of opportunity when, for a moment, Andronicus’ arms grew tired. Thor swung for his axe head and connected, and managed to knock the blade from Andronicus’ hands. Andronicus watched it fly through the air, shocked, and Thor then kicked his father in the chest, knocking him down, flat on his back.
Before he could rise, Thor stepped forward and placed a foot on his throat. Thor had him pinned, and he stood there, looking down at him.
The entire battlefield was riveted as Thor stood over him, holding the tip of his sword to his father’s throat.
Andronicus, blood seeping from his mouth, smiled between his fangs.
“You cannot do it, son,” he said. “That is your great weakness. Your love for me. Just like my weakness for you. I could never bring myself to kill you. Not now, not your entire life. This entire battle is futility. You will let me go. Because you and I are one.”
Thor stood over him, hands shaking as he held the sword tip at his father’s throat. Slowly, he raised it. A part of him felt his father’s words to be true. How could he bring himself to kill his father?
But as he stared down, he considered all the pain, all the damage, his father had inflicted on everyone around him. He considered the price of letting him live. The price of compassion. It was too great a price to pay, not just for Thorgrin, but for everyone he loved and cared about. Thor glanced behind him and saw the tens of thousands of Empire soldiers whom had invaded his homeland, standing there, ready to attack his people. And this man was their leader. Thor owed it to his homeland. To Gwendolyn. And most of all, to himself. This man might be his father by blood, but that was all. He was not his father in any other sense of the word. And blood alone did not make a father.
Thor raised his sword high, and with a great cry, he swung it down.
Thor closed his eyes, and opened them to see the sword, embedded in the soil, right beside Andronicus’ head. Thor left it there and stepped back.
His father had been right: he had been unable to do it. Despite everything, he just could not bring himself 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 would still be down there, surely all dead.
Reece reached over and took Selese’s hand and smiled as the two held hands as they walked. Reece was touched by her love and devotion for him, by her willingness to cross the entire countryside just to save him. He felt an overwhelming rush of love for her, and he could not wait until they had a moment alone so he could express it to her. He had already decided he wanted to be with her forever. He felt a loyalty to her unlike he had ever felt to anyone else, and as soon as they had a moment, he vowed to propose to her. He would give her his mother’s Ring, the one his mother had given to him to give to the love of his life, when he found her.
“I can’t believe you crossed the Ring just for me,” Reece said to her.
She smiled.
“It wasn’t that far,” she said.
“Not far?” he asked. “You put your life in danger to cross a war-ravaged country. I owe you. Beyond what I could say.”
“You owe me nothing. I am just glad you’re alive.”