A Grant of Arms (Book #8 in the Sorcerer's Ring)

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

Godfrey rode out in front of his men, flanked by Akorth, Fulton, and his Silesian general, and riding beside the Empire commander whom he had paid off liberally. Godfrey rode with a wide smile on his face, more than satisfied as he looked over and saw the division of Empire men, several thousand strong, riding alongside them, joining his cause.

He reflected with satisfaction on the payoff he had given them, the endless bags of gold, recalled the looks on their faces, and was elated that his plan had worked. He hadn’t been sure of it up until the last moment, and for the first time, he breathed easy. There were many ways to win a battle, after all, and he had just won one without shedding a drop of blood. Perhaps that didn’t make him as chivalrous or bold as the other warriors. But, still, it made him successful. And at the end of the day, wasn’t that the goal? He would rather keep all his men alive with a little bit of bribery than see half of them killed in some reckless act of chivalry. That was just him.

Godfrey had worked hard to achieve what he had. He’d used all of his black-market connections through the brothels, back alleys, and taverns in order to find out who had been sleeping with whom, which brothels the Empire commanders frequented in the Ring, and which Empire commander was open to being paid off. Godfrey had deeper illicit contacts than most—indeed, he had spent his entire life accumulating them—and now they had come in handy. It had also not hurt that he had paid each of his contacts off well. Finally, he had put his daddy’s gold to good use.

Still, Godfrey had not been sure if they were reliable, not until the last moment. There was no one to sell you out like a thief, and he’d had to take the chance that he was being had. He knew it was a coin toss, that these people were only as reliable as the gold they were paid. But he’d paid them with very, very fine gold, and they had turned out to be more reliable than he thought.

Of course, he had no idea how long this division of Empire troops would remain loyal. But at least they had wormed their way out of one battle, and for now, had them at their side.

“I was wrong about you,” came a voice.

Godfrey turned to see the Silesian general coming up beside him with a look of admiration.

“I doubted you, I must admit,” he continued. “I apologize. I could not have imagined the plan you had up your sleeve. It was ingenious. I won’t question you again.”

Godfrey smiled back, feeling vindicated. All the generals, all the military types, had doubted him his whole life. In his father’s court, a court of warriors, he had always been looked upon with disdain. Now, finally, they were seeing that he, in his own way, could be as competent as them.

“Don’t worry,” Godfrey said. “I question myself. I am learning as I go. I am not a commander, and I have no master plan other than to survive any way I can.”

“And where to now?” the general asked.

“To join with Kendrick, Erec, and the others, and do what we can to abet their cause.”

They rode, the thousands of them, an awkward and uneasy alliance between the Empire men and Godfrey’s, charging up and down hills, across long, dry, dusty plains, heading to the valley where Kendrick had told them to rendezvous.

As they rode, a million thoughts raced through Godfrey’s mind. He wondered how Kendrick and Erec had fared; he wondered how outnumbered they would be; and he wondered how he would fare in the next battle, a real battle. There was no more avoiding it; he had no more tricks up his sleeve, no more gold.

He gulped, nervous. He felt that he did not have the same level of courage that all the others seemed to have, that they all seemed to be born with. Everyone else seemed so fearless in battle, and even in life. But Godfrey had to admit he was afraid. When it came down to it, to the thick of battle, he knew he would not shirk. But he was clumsy and awkward; he did not have the skills of the others, and he just didn’t know how many times he would be saved by the gods of luck.

The others didn’t seem to care if they died—they all seemed too willing to give their lives for glory. Godfrey appreciated glory. But he loved life more. He loved his ale, and loved his food, and even now, he felt a growling in his stomach, an urge to be back in the safety of a tavern somewhere. A life of battle was just not for him.

But Godfrey thought of Thor, out there somewhere, captive; he thought of all his kin fighting for the cause, and he knew this was where his honor, as sullied as it might be, compelled him to be.

They rode and rode and, finally, all crested a peak and were afforded a sweeping view of the valley spread out below. They came to a halt, and Godfrey squinted into the blinding sun, trying to adjust, to make sense of the sight before him. He raised one hand to shield his eyes and looked out, confused.

Then, to his dread, all became clear. Godfrey’s heart stopped: down below, thousands of Kendrick’s and Erec’s and Srog’s men were being dragged away, bound as captives. This was the fighting force he was supposed to meet up with. They were completely surrounded, by ten times as many Empire soldiers. They were on foot, wrists bound, all taken prisoner, all being led away. Godfrey knew Kendrick and Erec would never surrender unless there had been good reason. It looked as if they had been set up.

Godfrey froze, struck with panic. He wondered how this could have happened. He had been expecting to find them all in the heat of a well-matched battle, had expected to charge in and join forces with them. But now, instead, they were disappearing into the horizon, already a good half-day’s ride away.

The Empire general rode up beside Godfrey and scoffed.

“It seems your men have lost,” the Empire general said. “That wasn’t part of our deal.”

Godfrey turned to him, and saw how anxious the general seemed to be.

“I paid you well,” Godfrey said, nervous but mustering his most confident voice as he felt his deal falling apart. “And you promised to join me in my cause.”

But the Empire general shook his head.

“I promised to join you in battle—not on a suicide mission. My few thousand men will not go up against an entire battalion of Andronicus’. Our deal has changed. You can fight them on your own—and I’m keeping your gold.”

The Empire general turned and screamed as he kicked his horse and took off in the other direction, his men following on his heels. They soon disappeared down on the other side of the valley.

“He has our gold!” Akorth said. “Should we pursue him?”

Godfrey shook his head as he watched them ride off.

“And what good would that do? Gold is gold. I’m not going to risk our lives for it. Let him go. There is always more.”

Godfrey turned and watched the horizon, the disappearing group of Kendrick's and Erec’s men, which he cared more about. Now he was without backup, and was even more isolated than before. He felt his plans crumbling all around him.

“Now what?” Fulton asked.

Godfrey shrugged.

“I have no idea,” he said.

“You’re not supposed to say that,” Fulton said. “You’re a commander now.”

But Godfrey merely shrugged again. “I speak the truth.”

“This warrior stuff is hard,” Akorth said, scratching his belly as he removed his helmet. “It doesn’t seem to quite work out as you expect, does it?”

Godfrey sat there on his horse, shaking his head, pondering what to do. He’d been dealt a hand he had not expected, and he had no contingency plan.

“Should we turn back?” Fulton asked.

“No,” Godfrey heard himself say, surprising even himself.

The others turned and looked at him, shocked. Others huddled closer to hear his command.

“I may not be a great warrior,” Godfrey said, “but those are my brothers out there. They are being taken away. We cannot turn back. Even if it means our deaths.”

“Are you mad?” the Silesian general asked. “All of those fine warriors of the Silver, of the MacGils, of the Silesians—all of them, and they could not fight back the Empire’s men. How do you think a few thousand of our men, under your command, will do it?”

Godfrey turned to him, annoyed. He was tired of being doubted.

“I never said we would win,” he countered. “I say only that it is the right thing to do. I will not abandon them. Now if you want to turn around and go home, feel free. I will attack them myself.”

“You are an inexperienced commander,” he said, scowling. “You know not of what you speak. You will lead all these men to certain death.”

“I am,” Godfrey said. “That is true. But you promised not to doubt me again. And I won’t be turning around.”

Godfrey rode several feet forward and up an elevation so that he could be seen by all his men.

“MEN!” he called out, his voice booming. “I know you don’t know me as a tried-and-true commander, as you do Kendrick or Erec or Srog. And it is true, I do not have their skills. But I have heart, at least on occasion. And so do you. What I know is that those are our brothers out there, captured. And I myself would rather not live than live to see them taken away before our eyes, than go back home like dogs to our cities and await the Empire to come and kill us, too. Be sure of it: they will kill us one day. We can all go down now, on our feet, fighting, chasing the enemy as free men. Or we can go down in shame and dishonor. The choice is yours. Ride with me, and live or not, you will ride to glory!”

There came a shout from his men, one so enthusiastic that it surprised Godfrey. They all raised their swords high into the air, and it gave him courage.

It also made Godfrey realize the reality of what he just said. He had not really thought through his words before saying them; he just got swept up in the moment. Now he realized he was committed to it, and he was a little shocked by his own words. His own bravery was daunting to even him.

As the men pranced on their horses, prepared their arms, and got ready for their final charge, Akorth and Fulton came up alongside him.

“Drink?” Akorth asked.

Godfrey looked down and saw him reaching out with a skin of wine, and he snatched it from Akorth’s hand; he threw his head back and drank and drank, until he had nearly drunk the whole thing, barely stopping to catch his breath. Finally, Godfrey wiped the back of his mouth and handed it back.

What have I done? he wondered. He had committed himself, and the others, to a battle he could not win. Had he been thinking clearly?

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Akorth said, patting him roughly on the back as he belched. “Quite a speech. Better than theater!”

“We should have sold tickets!” Fulton chimed in.

“I guess you’re not half wrong,” Akorth said. “Better to die on our feet than on our backs.”

“Although on our backs might not be half bad, if it’s in a brothel bed,” Fulton added.

“Hear hear!” Fulton said. “Or how about dying with a mug of ale in our arms and our heads tilted back!”

“That would be fine indeed,” Akorth said, drinking.

“But after a while I suppose, it would all get boring,” Fulton said. “How many mugs can one man drink, how many women can one man bed?”

“Well, a lot, if you think about it rightly,” Akorth said.

“Even so, I suppose it might be fun to die a different way. Not as boring.”

Akorth sighed.

“Well, if we survive all this, at least it would give us cause to really have a drink. For once in our lives, we will have earned it!”

Godfrey turned away, trying to tune out Akorth and Fulton’s perpetual chatter. He needed to concentrate. The time had come for him to become a man, to leave behind witty banter and tavern jokes; to make real decisions that affected real men in the real world. He felt a heaviness about him; he could not help but wonder if this was as his father had felt. In some strange way, as much as he hated the man, he was beginning to sympathize with his father. And maybe even, to his own horror, to become like him.

Forgetting the danger before him, Godfrey was overcome with a surge of confidence. He suddenly kicked his horse and with a battle cry, raced headlong down the valley.

Behind him came the immediate battle cry of thousands, and their horses’ steps filled his ears as they charged behind him.

Godfrey already felt light-headed, the wind in his hair, the wine going to his head, as he raced towards a certain death, and wondered what in the world he had gotten himself into.